Limitless waves of corrugated metal and rancid, dark fur came down from the cavern holes like weepings from open pores -- spears and halberds jutting from the jittering hands of the Vermin, who screeched a synchronized cry to the Horned One as they raced frantically to the battleground, perhaps perturbed by the small but diverse group of intruders within this sanctum, bulging the row of pikes and swords that kept the Saurus at bay. Eldritch, warp-infused flames dancing upon the filth coloured ground and the crumbling of earth marked their arrival -- the eerie shade of Morrslieb seemed to envelop the trench as the flames crawled toward the under-ceiling like fiery lacerations in the sky. The swarm of fur took little note of those caught among the crushed, 'better them than me-me,' was the closest thought to comradery these creatures had for one another, the promise of food and carnage bubbling in their minds.
The phalanx drew themselves closer to Mokte, pushing him back until the Crimson One abruptly refused to break his position. He held the cleaver opposite to his snout, his reptilian eyes closed while a soothing tune hazed within his ears. Without warning, the cleaver's glow became overpowering as heavenly sparks coalesed with the coal black obsinite, as if the magical element had been activated by the domineering puff of his chest above these armoured pests. Now it was the Stormvermin that backed away, sneering while their halberds and filth ridden voulges poked at the air surrounding the Saurus. At last, the blinding light from the cleaver became overbearing, silence belied his contempt for the Skaven as Mokte swung his blade horizontally across the air. His whiff was intentional; a beam of magical fire materialized from the blade and the snarling creatures that barred his way forward were now screaming in agony while the holy flame melted away their flesh in seconds.
While Falderan had been possessed by an almost primal bloodthirst reminiscent of his Druchii kin, the beastly Mokte was overcome with a sense of humble duty while the Cleaver of Tzlipectl sizzled in his hand. Thoughts of the city pierced his undeterred mind; second long bursts of the city under flame and the corpses of his friends and comrades seethed within his mind, grief for what Tzlipectl would become if they failed here. A hundred simpering rats charged, Mokte cracked his neck at the destruction that would follow -- no fear of death crawled over his conscience, not while Chichime's icon burned within his claws.
The air became overwhelmed with pure, eradicating lightning, drowing out the poisonous warpfire like a bloody exorcism while disintegrating clan rats and their supposed betters flew into the air, their bodies becoming strobes that floated within the recesses of the Undercity, absolved by a final, excruciating rite. Their animalistic roars of bloody revenge became little more than gurgling pleas in the Queekish tongue until the shade of Mokte's weapon dominated the aura of evil. A hundred more came; a hundred more turned into ash. But the putrfied slaves of Pestilens did not cower, their rotting hides shambling toward the Crimson one and his holy blade with no regard for their lives.
Anglermaw watched and chittered from within the trench at the cloud of wreathing fire, cracking like an explosion that petrified the ears of the 'good' Ratman. His weapon still fizzled within the holster, overpowered by the hideous atmosphere of asphalt rubble, slowly surrendering to the will of Tzlipectl, and Nahwa most likely. That's what Anglermaw believed, anyway, his attention to the assault at hand broken slightly as a new roar contested for dominance. Hidden by the wall of flame, the decaying ogre had broken free it's wranglers, gouging any unlucky rodent to be caught under it's warpstone clubs. The beast dragged it's exposed gut and necrosis-ridden form down the hillside by those same blunt hands, flicking the crushed bodies of unfortunate vermin in the air as it approached Mokte.
Mokte backed away when the creature came into his space, the cleaver still burning within his hands. The Ogre was governed by a cunning, if wild intuition; it knew better than to tuck itself toward into Mokte's blade.
Or perhaps it was merely puppeteering by the cloaked figure above, watching the battle from a balcony within the looming cathedral upon the Undercity's ceiling, where not even Nahwa's will could hope to invade. Hebi clenched his hands tightly, thrashing his own pestilent spirit within the mind of this lumbering beast, influencing it to swipe and gouge, no matter how many times it was parried, so long as the Lizard-thing was distracted, all was going to plan. An ethereal spear materialised within the Priest's free hand -- it's pointed edge invisible, though it was clouded by a snotty aura of filth and a legion of buzzing familiars. A terrible hymm of decay from Hebi's melting lips marked the cloud's flight, headed toward both Mokte and this inconsequential beast of burden.
Of course, this fantastic spectacle of violence did not absolve Anglermaw or Celedron of any danger. The weapon's team still churned with their hellish firethrowers toward the makeshift trench. They spread out, wary of another spew of warp lightning. Anglermaw pointed his warplock toward them again, but the weapon would not fire. The overload of warpstone had caused a surge in the warplock's core; it simply stopped working the moment the Sea-Rat pulled the trigger.
"Sigmar Rat damn it! Are you joking?!" Anglermaw screeched with frustration, tossing the pistol to the ground like a child's toy. "This is the time ya stop working?! After everying that's happened?"
"Burn them all-all in warpfire, furred or not-not." Growled one the engineers from within his hissing mask, undeterred by the furious Elf-thing.
Luckily, the competing influence of Chaos and Holy fire were enough to allow the influence of Nahwa to seep into the consciense of Hans, his struggling gasp for air coming to halt. He rose to his feet, scanning his surroundings like a souless automaton, undisturbed by the slow but sure tide of painful, firey death. He raised his arms into the air, as though grasping at something, before a fierce bolt of sky blue tore through his body. The whilstle that commanded his will beamed with restored energy in Celedron's hand. The return of the conduit assured as Hans' eyes once again wreathed a teal glow.
"There is a wretched evil keeping my influence at bay, I do not know what it is." The voice of Nahwa echoed through the whistle. "I cannot interfere any longer as this same force is wrestling my control over the Ark. You must make haste!"
The phalanx drew themselves closer to Mokte, pushing him back until the Crimson One abruptly refused to break his position. He held the cleaver opposite to his snout, his reptilian eyes closed while a soothing tune hazed within his ears. Without warning, the cleaver's glow became overpowering as heavenly sparks coalesed with the coal black obsinite, as if the magical element had been activated by the domineering puff of his chest above these armoured pests. Now it was the Stormvermin that backed away, sneering while their halberds and filth ridden voulges poked at the air surrounding the Saurus. At last, the blinding light from the cleaver became overbearing, silence belied his contempt for the Skaven as Mokte swung his blade horizontally across the air. His whiff was intentional; a beam of magical fire materialized from the blade and the snarling creatures that barred his way forward were now screaming in agony while the holy flame melted away their flesh in seconds.
While Falderan had been possessed by an almost primal bloodthirst reminiscent of his Druchii kin, the beastly Mokte was overcome with a sense of humble duty while the Cleaver of Tzlipectl sizzled in his hand. Thoughts of the city pierced his undeterred mind; second long bursts of the city under flame and the corpses of his friends and comrades seethed within his mind, grief for what Tzlipectl would become if they failed here. A hundred simpering rats charged, Mokte cracked his neck at the destruction that would follow -- no fear of death crawled over his conscience, not while Chichime's icon burned within his claws.
The air became overwhelmed with pure, eradicating lightning, drowing out the poisonous warpfire like a bloody exorcism while disintegrating clan rats and their supposed betters flew into the air, their bodies becoming strobes that floated within the recesses of the Undercity, absolved by a final, excruciating rite. Their animalistic roars of bloody revenge became little more than gurgling pleas in the Queekish tongue until the shade of Mokte's weapon dominated the aura of evil. A hundred more came; a hundred more turned into ash. But the putrfied slaves of Pestilens did not cower, their rotting hides shambling toward the Crimson one and his holy blade with no regard for their lives.
Anglermaw watched and chittered from within the trench at the cloud of wreathing fire, cracking like an explosion that petrified the ears of the 'good' Ratman. His weapon still fizzled within the holster, overpowered by the hideous atmosphere of asphalt rubble, slowly surrendering to the will of Tzlipectl, and Nahwa most likely. That's what Anglermaw believed, anyway, his attention to the assault at hand broken slightly as a new roar contested for dominance. Hidden by the wall of flame, the decaying ogre had broken free it's wranglers, gouging any unlucky rodent to be caught under it's warpstone clubs. The beast dragged it's exposed gut and necrosis-ridden form down the hillside by those same blunt hands, flicking the crushed bodies of unfortunate vermin in the air as it approached Mokte.
Mokte backed away when the creature came into his space, the cleaver still burning within his hands. The Ogre was governed by a cunning, if wild intuition; it knew better than to tuck itself toward into Mokte's blade.
Or perhaps it was merely puppeteering by the cloaked figure above, watching the battle from a balcony within the looming cathedral upon the Undercity's ceiling, where not even Nahwa's will could hope to invade. Hebi clenched his hands tightly, thrashing his own pestilent spirit within the mind of this lumbering beast, influencing it to swipe and gouge, no matter how many times it was parried, so long as the Lizard-thing was distracted, all was going to plan. An ethereal spear materialised within the Priest's free hand -- it's pointed edge invisible, though it was clouded by a snotty aura of filth and a legion of buzzing familiars. A terrible hymm of decay from Hebi's melting lips marked the cloud's flight, headed toward both Mokte and this inconsequential beast of burden.
Of course, this fantastic spectacle of violence did not absolve Anglermaw or Celedron of any danger. The weapon's team still churned with their hellish firethrowers toward the makeshift trench. They spread out, wary of another spew of warp lightning. Anglermaw pointed his warplock toward them again, but the weapon would not fire. The overload of warpstone had caused a surge in the warplock's core; it simply stopped working the moment the Sea-Rat pulled the trigger.
"Sigmar Rat damn it! Are you joking?!" Anglermaw screeched with frustration, tossing the pistol to the ground like a child's toy. "This is the time ya stop working?! After everying that's happened?"
"Burn them all-all in warpfire, furred or not-not." Growled one the engineers from within his hissing mask, undeterred by the furious Elf-thing.
Luckily, the competing influence of Chaos and Holy fire were enough to allow the influence of Nahwa to seep into the consciense of Hans, his struggling gasp for air coming to halt. He rose to his feet, scanning his surroundings like a souless automaton, undisturbed by the slow but sure tide of painful, firey death. He raised his arms into the air, as though grasping at something, before a fierce bolt of sky blue tore through his body. The whilstle that commanded his will beamed with restored energy in Celedron's hand. The return of the conduit assured as Hans' eyes once again wreathed a teal glow.
"There is a wretched evil keeping my influence at bay, I do not know what it is." The voice of Nahwa echoed through the whistle. "I cannot interfere any longer as this same force is wrestling my control over the Ark. You must make haste!"
As his would be attackers fell down with pain and itching as if a hundred insects but into their skin Fal moved with the precision of an Elf and the ferocity of a predator defending it's territory. Screws and bolts loosened and fell from the Skaven's armour as the gunner fell to the ground writhing. Trying to scratch through the armour small beads of blood formed. His claws clawing at metal were pulled and started to bleed as the nails were almost pulled off. Screeches of agony came from it before Fal moved almost in an act of mercy. Leaping up and driving his blade down in a swift motion of elegance the Skaven felt it's visor shatter as the blade went in one eye and out the other pinning it's head. It went limp and still instantly.
The tank holder thrashed about in an attempt to flee. With the magical tendrils moving into it's armor and body the rodent squirted such fear musk and excrement it began to weigh down the suit of armour. Managing to detach it's tube from the tank fuel dripped out from faulty latches and stumbling away the rodent ran as it witnessed Fal's gorgeous motion take down his partner.
Celedron dropped his spell now as a voice echoed in his mind. It started off like static before turning to a great groaning like that of a large stomach. Before finally translating in his mind. It was the voice of the Slann Nahwa. Informing him he was not able to help more due to outside interference. Realizing the flames were dwindling and magic rampant but unstable in these tunnels Celedron wiped his nose of blood realizing his magic would be little use for the moment at least. Hearing the clatter of Anglermaw's weapon he turned to face the aggravated rat. Seeing Hans standing next to him and eyes glowing faintly with the low of magic Celedron pulled the boy down as fires were inching closer to him.
"Rat. What's wrong with your weapon?" He says at Anglermaw with as much gentleness as a slave master would a whip.
The remaining thrower in the tunnel with Fal was panicked. Frozen as the Elf took out the others and watching as they writhed in pain. The clanking of metal came to their ears as they say their allied and fleeing tank holder run past. A thin trail of fuel behind him. Taking aim at Falderan they fired a fierce burst of flames at the Elf. Luckily for him however his heightened state of aggression improved his sharp senses beyond their unnatural starting point. His blade shrieked in his mind and like an ancient hero dodging the flames of a Chaos Dragon Fal slid past the stream and behind a lump of stone. Flames barraged the rock and it dried and melted. Spittering small hot clumps as the mix of rock and hardened dirt slowly was edged away.
Further inside the tunnel and seeing this was an enraged Technusk. Seeing one of his men running distracted him for a moment from the others blaring down on his foe. As the cowardly rat ran by he turned and spat words of hatred.
"Fool-coward. We close to victory!" He shrieks as he turns back to see the Elf held behind the rock. "Yes-yes finish him!" His raspy voice said with the elegance of a cart sliding on rusted rails and wheels. Victory smelt at hand. And victory smelt of cold blood? Technusk turned at the detection of this odd new smell to narrowly avoid a lethal dart that skid off his mask.
Running down the tunnels were the small footsteps of a blue Skink. Chi-noee sprinted with such a soft foot he was unnoticed till it was too late. As he approached the conflict he saw the flash of warpfire. Running past him and taking no time to stop was a Skaven trailing a sickly green fluid from the large contraption on it's back. Pulling a dart Chi-noee took aim and with a single shot landed the dart in a gap in the Skaven's leg armour. A spot where Celedron's spell loosened and peeled back armour. The dart stabbed into the Skaven's knee and lodged itself under the knee cap hitting the nerves. With a whimper of pain the rat fell with a clunk that was lost to the roar of fire. Still alive and feeling his body filling with a numbing pain the rat tried to crawl away. Chi-noee looked ahead and this time saw the one in charge. A Warlock Engineer yelling spiteful words to the fleeing rat and words of pride to the ones shooting. Drawing a dart he fired it at the Skaven. Narrowly missing due to it's strange headpiece the two caught sight of one another.
Technusk wasted no time once he saw the unexpected Skink. Pointing a ragged finger he chanted words of power in his foul queekish tongue. Electricity sparked between his fingers and over his armour and shot out towards Chi-noee. The Skink lept aside surprised by the magical attack. Raising another hand he fired from his left. Another bolt just missing the Skink but the static heat from the shot ignited the fuel trail left by the fleeing Rat. Flames traveled along it as the still living and pained carrier of the tank felt a close heat and was then engulfed in flames. A final shriek of terror muffled by paralyzed lips as the tank exploded. Lighting up the tunnel from behind Chi-noee. The trail flame crept back past the ones assaulting Fal who soon found their weapon over heat and stop working. A moment of Weakness Fal capitalized on.
Leaping over the half melted mound he rushed the Skaven that tried to scamper over one another. With the spirit of the beast of his blade shrieking and the warpfire giving it a visible presence nearby the former flames trail the Skaven were slaughtered. Fal swung and as if the spirit fought with him flew through the Rats and their organs stopped for a moment. Fear and terror stopping their hearts as Fal's blade didn't hit the second, only the front gunner. However, as he pulled up but rats fell down. The second seemingly cut open from the inside by some ethereal energy as the form of the bat faded and the rats collapsed dead. Blood poured from the seconds sealed armour as it pooled on his legs while the first was cut open horizontally. Ahead Fal saw the fight between Technusk and Chi-noee. Still in his blood rage he rushed forward. Eager to finish the nearby Skaven.
Down another tunnel was another Warpfire Thrower. The duo of rats collapsed and felt their blood draw into clumps in their veins. Lumps formed around their joints where darts poked from. Their armour tightened and with painful whimpers they stopped moving. Lungs growing heavy with a sludge like blood from a poison of horrific potency. Their tails seemed to thicken in sections and faces swelled. A trio of panicked Clanrats swung blades and missed a pair of sharp figured. Small scaled bodies that seemed to blend with the very stone. A duo of Chameleon Skinks. The pair came in with small ornate blades and dodging the Skaven's strikes cleaved the weapons into their necks taking them down. One fell instantly the other had to be bitten and have the wound on it's throat widened before it fell. The final charged swinging a cleaver. As it got within three feet of one the other shot out it's tongue. Smacking the Skaven's eye and stunning it the foe stumbled. Swinging down at the stumbling foe the other slammed it's weapon into the rats skull. Cracking it and spilling black blood and brain matter. The rat collapsed in a heap. The two Skinks, the remains of their party headed on. Seeing the flames of battle ahead and hearing the roars of Mokte and a Skaven abomination. The two were coming to reinforce.
The tank holder thrashed about in an attempt to flee. With the magical tendrils moving into it's armor and body the rodent squirted such fear musk and excrement it began to weigh down the suit of armour. Managing to detach it's tube from the tank fuel dripped out from faulty latches and stumbling away the rodent ran as it witnessed Fal's gorgeous motion take down his partner.
Celedron dropped his spell now as a voice echoed in his mind. It started off like static before turning to a great groaning like that of a large stomach. Before finally translating in his mind. It was the voice of the Slann Nahwa. Informing him he was not able to help more due to outside interference. Realizing the flames were dwindling and magic rampant but unstable in these tunnels Celedron wiped his nose of blood realizing his magic would be little use for the moment at least. Hearing the clatter of Anglermaw's weapon he turned to face the aggravated rat. Seeing Hans standing next to him and eyes glowing faintly with the low of magic Celedron pulled the boy down as fires were inching closer to him.
"Rat. What's wrong with your weapon?" He says at Anglermaw with as much gentleness as a slave master would a whip.
The remaining thrower in the tunnel with Fal was panicked. Frozen as the Elf took out the others and watching as they writhed in pain. The clanking of metal came to their ears as they say their allied and fleeing tank holder run past. A thin trail of fuel behind him. Taking aim at Falderan they fired a fierce burst of flames at the Elf. Luckily for him however his heightened state of aggression improved his sharp senses beyond their unnatural starting point. His blade shrieked in his mind and like an ancient hero dodging the flames of a Chaos Dragon Fal slid past the stream and behind a lump of stone. Flames barraged the rock and it dried and melted. Spittering small hot clumps as the mix of rock and hardened dirt slowly was edged away.
Further inside the tunnel and seeing this was an enraged Technusk. Seeing one of his men running distracted him for a moment from the others blaring down on his foe. As the cowardly rat ran by he turned and spat words of hatred.
"Fool-coward. We close to victory!" He shrieks as he turns back to see the Elf held behind the rock. "Yes-yes finish him!" His raspy voice said with the elegance of a cart sliding on rusted rails and wheels. Victory smelt at hand. And victory smelt of cold blood? Technusk turned at the detection of this odd new smell to narrowly avoid a lethal dart that skid off his mask.
Running down the tunnels were the small footsteps of a blue Skink. Chi-noee sprinted with such a soft foot he was unnoticed till it was too late. As he approached the conflict he saw the flash of warpfire. Running past him and taking no time to stop was a Skaven trailing a sickly green fluid from the large contraption on it's back. Pulling a dart Chi-noee took aim and with a single shot landed the dart in a gap in the Skaven's leg armour. A spot where Celedron's spell loosened and peeled back armour. The dart stabbed into the Skaven's knee and lodged itself under the knee cap hitting the nerves. With a whimper of pain the rat fell with a clunk that was lost to the roar of fire. Still alive and feeling his body filling with a numbing pain the rat tried to crawl away. Chi-noee looked ahead and this time saw the one in charge. A Warlock Engineer yelling spiteful words to the fleeing rat and words of pride to the ones shooting. Drawing a dart he fired it at the Skaven. Narrowly missing due to it's strange headpiece the two caught sight of one another.
Technusk wasted no time once he saw the unexpected Skink. Pointing a ragged finger he chanted words of power in his foul queekish tongue. Electricity sparked between his fingers and over his armour and shot out towards Chi-noee. The Skink lept aside surprised by the magical attack. Raising another hand he fired from his left. Another bolt just missing the Skink but the static heat from the shot ignited the fuel trail left by the fleeing Rat. Flames traveled along it as the still living and pained carrier of the tank felt a close heat and was then engulfed in flames. A final shriek of terror muffled by paralyzed lips as the tank exploded. Lighting up the tunnel from behind Chi-noee. The trail flame crept back past the ones assaulting Fal who soon found their weapon over heat and stop working. A moment of Weakness Fal capitalized on.
Leaping over the half melted mound he rushed the Skaven that tried to scamper over one another. With the spirit of the beast of his blade shrieking and the warpfire giving it a visible presence nearby the former flames trail the Skaven were slaughtered. Fal swung and as if the spirit fought with him flew through the Rats and their organs stopped for a moment. Fear and terror stopping their hearts as Fal's blade didn't hit the second, only the front gunner. However, as he pulled up but rats fell down. The second seemingly cut open from the inside by some ethereal energy as the form of the bat faded and the rats collapsed dead. Blood poured from the seconds sealed armour as it pooled on his legs while the first was cut open horizontally. Ahead Fal saw the fight between Technusk and Chi-noee. Still in his blood rage he rushed forward. Eager to finish the nearby Skaven.
Down another tunnel was another Warpfire Thrower. The duo of rats collapsed and felt their blood draw into clumps in their veins. Lumps formed around their joints where darts poked from. Their armour tightened and with painful whimpers they stopped moving. Lungs growing heavy with a sludge like blood from a poison of horrific potency. Their tails seemed to thicken in sections and faces swelled. A trio of panicked Clanrats swung blades and missed a pair of sharp figured. Small scaled bodies that seemed to blend with the very stone. A duo of Chameleon Skinks. The pair came in with small ornate blades and dodging the Skaven's strikes cleaved the weapons into their necks taking them down. One fell instantly the other had to be bitten and have the wound on it's throat widened before it fell. The final charged swinging a cleaver. As it got within three feet of one the other shot out it's tongue. Smacking the Skaven's eye and stunning it the foe stumbled. Swinging down at the stumbling foe the other slammed it's weapon into the rats skull. Cracking it and spilling black blood and brain matter. The rat collapsed in a heap. The two Skinks, the remains of their party headed on. Seeing the flames of battle ahead and hearing the roars of Mokte and a Skaven abomination. The two were coming to reinforce.
Mokte swished and parried each blow of the beast's crystalline mounds; these infected, bolted parodies of clubbed fists that swung wildly and indiscriminate of friend or foe. Those Rats caught too close to the battle became either burned from the scorching heat of the Saurus' magical cleaver, or abruptly flung across the dry earth as a bloodied and twisted contortion of themselves. The survivors would instead back away and let the duel run it's course; a thousand jeweled eyes gazed in awe and despair at the crude yet bedazzling swordplay -- other Stormvermin however would chose not to pass through both creatures head on. They wandered around the circle, halberds and voulges raised and ready for once they came to the aid of the struggling engineers. An ever-growing horde of armoured rodents squared against Falderan and his glowing blade, dauntless in their many numbers.
From there, they raised a deafening screech that churned in the bowels of the Pit; the still, lifeless bay eerily stirred. From atop his cathedral tower, Hebi felt a phantom prick from his melted ears, and he gazed curiously at the bloody charge in the hope that this Elf would be consumed under a tide of savage Ratmen.
For the Saurus, however the lance of pests still flew from the jutting towers of glowing green, and the buzz of locusts induced a cringe upon Mokte's scales. Governed by instinct, he was compelled to glance at the swarm's origin, his eyes widened and jaws bared when he noticed a fleshy lance aimed toward him like a target. He unlocked himself from the Rat Ogre's glowing fists and rolled away, his rival's limbs almost exploding upon the ground. A huge crack formed upon the soil where Mokte should've stood, he spat in it's direction as he kneeled mere yards away from his enemy, with newfound knowledge of the terrible strength of this abomination, rotting, salivating, no ounce of sapient thought coursed across it's visible, bursted brain. It's breaths were struggled and desperate, more moans of pain while it used it's arms to haul over it's legion of prey, unable to rely upon the comically crooked legs that the Ogre's makers neglected to engineer like an intended weakness. Mokte raised himself while he took in this survey, wiping away at a few pestilent flies that dared suckle upon his crimson scales. The lance had missed him, so now it was time for the duel to resume.
Hebi spat from high above in frustration. Instead, the rotting cadaver of a lance barely flew over the tip of Anglermaw's pirate crown, causing him to emit a visible squawk of surprise once the object zoomed over his head and crashed into the ground like a ballista bolt, the buzzing of flies loud in his ringing ears. The march of the Fire-thowers became obscured to his vision, their sudden cries of pain once the Skinks came in their ambush became drowned out by a magical haze that distorted their pleas into the groans of dying Ogres. From then, he turned to Celedron, compelled when the Loremaster - followed by a strangely healthy Hans - asked about his wasted gun.
"That thing is cooked now." Anglermaw yelled, biting at his furred lip in chagrin, scratching his away out of the trench once the airbourn ooze began to envelop around the hole. "We gotta get-get outta 'ere before we end up on a Warlord's dish platter, damn it!"
From there, they raised a deafening screech that churned in the bowels of the Pit; the still, lifeless bay eerily stirred. From atop his cathedral tower, Hebi felt a phantom prick from his melted ears, and he gazed curiously at the bloody charge in the hope that this Elf would be consumed under a tide of savage Ratmen.
For the Saurus, however the lance of pests still flew from the jutting towers of glowing green, and the buzz of locusts induced a cringe upon Mokte's scales. Governed by instinct, he was compelled to glance at the swarm's origin, his eyes widened and jaws bared when he noticed a fleshy lance aimed toward him like a target. He unlocked himself from the Rat Ogre's glowing fists and rolled away, his rival's limbs almost exploding upon the ground. A huge crack formed upon the soil where Mokte should've stood, he spat in it's direction as he kneeled mere yards away from his enemy, with newfound knowledge of the terrible strength of this abomination, rotting, salivating, no ounce of sapient thought coursed across it's visible, bursted brain. It's breaths were struggled and desperate, more moans of pain while it used it's arms to haul over it's legion of prey, unable to rely upon the comically crooked legs that the Ogre's makers neglected to engineer like an intended weakness. Mokte raised himself while he took in this survey, wiping away at a few pestilent flies that dared suckle upon his crimson scales. The lance had missed him, so now it was time for the duel to resume.
Hebi spat from high above in frustration. Instead, the rotting cadaver of a lance barely flew over the tip of Anglermaw's pirate crown, causing him to emit a visible squawk of surprise once the object zoomed over his head and crashed into the ground like a ballista bolt, the buzzing of flies loud in his ringing ears. The march of the Fire-thowers became obscured to his vision, their sudden cries of pain once the Skinks came in their ambush became drowned out by a magical haze that distorted their pleas into the groans of dying Ogres. From then, he turned to Celedron, compelled when the Loremaster - followed by a strangely healthy Hans - asked about his wasted gun.
"That thing is cooked now." Anglermaw yelled, biting at his furred lip in chagrin, scratching his away out of the trench once the airbourn ooze began to envelop around the hole. "We gotta get-get outta 'ere before we end up on a Warlord's dish platter, damn it!"
As the pestilent lance hit past their heads and impacted the stone walls Celedron looked at it in a mix of curiocity and disgust. The smell was vile, like a leaked pustule that became infected in foul water. The swarming of flies were a nuisance but simply that. Anglermaw's comment on his weapon led Celedron to grab it and examine the ugly but strangely efficient craftsmanship. The fact his Elven hands had to touch it was sad enough but he saw some potential use in it as the rattling of metal was heard above. It was the sound of another Warpfire Thrower moving up. Celedron bit his lip and found the warpstone behind the weapons crude metal carapace. His magical reserves were low but he could use a little bit of what he had on the forbidden substance. Channeling raw magical energy into the warpstone fragment it began to spark and heat. The weapon jolted as the warpstone fell unstable. Magic being poured into such a small part caused it to grow unstable with power.
As flames gushed past their heads Celedron threw it. It passed through the wall of flame and continued to jitter and spark as it landed in front of the tank holder who stood just behind the nozzle holder. Curiously he looked down at the contraption but as he did the energy erupted. The stone exploded and shards of metal shot out. One bit cutting the fuel line and several other shards pieced the rats visor. Squealing in pain it held it's face as it's eyes were filled with shards and blood. The nozzle holder turned and looked to it's panicked partner. Seeing the flames stop Celedron looked up and then came down with a sigh.
"Glad that worked." He says with a satisfied smirk.
Another pair of Warpfire Throwers met their end in the tunnels. Skulls bashed in and veins clogged by their own blood. The two Chameleon Skinks that had done a good job at routinely dealing with these weapon teams came to an opening where they saw the wounded one with shards in it's eyes and face. As they emerged from the shadows the gunner panicked and fired flames. This would go much like it had for others. The leaking fuel ignited from the flames that were easily dodged by the skins and the Skaven tank carrier was blown apart and it's partner severely burnt. Screaming in pain he ran down the hall before dropping, drenched in arcane fire. As the Skinks moved in they peered into the hole where Celedron, Hans and Anglermaw resided. Upon identifying their allies they slide down with a hiss to give their position away. Celedron jostled and looked over. A sigh of relief as he saw the Skinks.
"Some of you lived I see." They look to Anglermaw with reptilian eyes and no emotions.
Technusk began to panic as he heard footsteps behind himself. Turning he saw Falderan and narrowly blasting a weak shot of lightning at the Elves feet caused him to stumble and the Skaven to skitter back.
"Tactical retreat flee!" He cries as he turns to move only to receive the bronze side of a small club over his cheek. Narrowly regaining his composure from the dizziness around him he saw Chi-noee. The Skink hissed and went for another swing. The now panicked Skaven raised his wrists and blocked the hits. Chi-noee let out a wailing war cry and swung more. The Engineers reflexes were oddly fast and good enough to keep blocking as he was pushed back.
Falderan stumbled as the lightning hit. The moment of reprieve as he brushed away the dust let him calm down for a moment and as he came to he noticed the clanking of armour down the tunnels. In their dim depths he saw the above average amour of Skaven Stormvermin. Poor by Empire standards but for the Skaven this was high quality gear. They moved forward once Technusk's trouble was seen and wanting to help Chi-noee finish the vile caster he went to defend the Skink who laid a beatdown on the Skaven by locking swords with the approaching Stormvermin.
"More of a challenge I hope?" He asks parrying the blow of one to be met with viscous snarls and snapping fangs,
As flames gushed past their heads Celedron threw it. It passed through the wall of flame and continued to jitter and spark as it landed in front of the tank holder who stood just behind the nozzle holder. Curiously he looked down at the contraption but as he did the energy erupted. The stone exploded and shards of metal shot out. One bit cutting the fuel line and several other shards pieced the rats visor. Squealing in pain it held it's face as it's eyes were filled with shards and blood. The nozzle holder turned and looked to it's panicked partner. Seeing the flames stop Celedron looked up and then came down with a sigh.
"Glad that worked." He says with a satisfied smirk.
Another pair of Warpfire Throwers met their end in the tunnels. Skulls bashed in and veins clogged by their own blood. The two Chameleon Skinks that had done a good job at routinely dealing with these weapon teams came to an opening where they saw the wounded one with shards in it's eyes and face. As they emerged from the shadows the gunner panicked and fired flames. This would go much like it had for others. The leaking fuel ignited from the flames that were easily dodged by the skins and the Skaven tank carrier was blown apart and it's partner severely burnt. Screaming in pain he ran down the hall before dropping, drenched in arcane fire. As the Skinks moved in they peered into the hole where Celedron, Hans and Anglermaw resided. Upon identifying their allies they slide down with a hiss to give their position away. Celedron jostled and looked over. A sigh of relief as he saw the Skinks.
"Some of you lived I see." They look to Anglermaw with reptilian eyes and no emotions.
Technusk began to panic as he heard footsteps behind himself. Turning he saw Falderan and narrowly blasting a weak shot of lightning at the Elves feet caused him to stumble and the Skaven to skitter back.
"Tactical retreat flee!" He cries as he turns to move only to receive the bronze side of a small club over his cheek. Narrowly regaining his composure from the dizziness around him he saw Chi-noee. The Skink hissed and went for another swing. The now panicked Skaven raised his wrists and blocked the hits. Chi-noee let out a wailing war cry and swung more. The Engineers reflexes were oddly fast and good enough to keep blocking as he was pushed back.
Falderan stumbled as the lightning hit. The moment of reprieve as he brushed away the dust let him calm down for a moment and as he came to he noticed the clanking of armour down the tunnels. In their dim depths he saw the above average amour of Skaven Stormvermin. Poor by Empire standards but for the Skaven this was high quality gear. They moved forward once Technusk's trouble was seen and wanting to help Chi-noee finish the vile caster he went to defend the Skink who laid a beatdown on the Skaven by locking swords with the approaching Stormvermin.
"More of a challenge I hope?" He asks parrying the blow of one to be met with viscous snarls and snapping fangs,
A looming cloud of sickly green soon enveloped the trench like visible odour, encroaching upon the group and the many dead that surrounded them. Anglermaw chittered upon the comment of this Skink, lapping at it's scaled lips. It was a mircale in itself that he caught the words the creature articulated over his ears in this hostile environment; he could barely make out it's reptilian accent.
"I get around..." Anglermaw replied with a sneer, half forgetting his trusty hookarm when it radiated as he caressed his matted snout. Then he turned his head to Celedron, who had kindly blown the Sea-Rat's once trusted heirloom to smithereens, if only to save the group's lives. "...We're wastin' time, for Rat's sake! All we need is a break for the Ark an' we're clean-golden." He complained, twitching his beak back and forth at the multiple threats with stress, and paranoia at those that could not be seen. The vision of a charging Stormvermin barely caught his jeweled eye in the coming mist, the rival's own beady vision filled with disregard for the life of a fellow Ratkin. Anglermaw sidestepped the creature's corrugated halberd as it swing, gounging the lesser Rat in the side with a thud from his hook, and left to fall upon the ground with a spewing orifice of red.
"S'why they made me Claw-Admiral!" Anglermaw taunted, now a slave to sudden adrenaline.
--
Above the stalagmite range, Hebi looked down to the field with newfound disgust. The warriors of Skryre, humbled by a rag-tag group of no-furs and a defector from a thrall clan. The Priest's claws dug into the gaping crevices within his palms squishing the buzzing parasites that made their home within his festering body. "Skreptch's army and my Rat Ogre, humiliated by outsiders..." Hatred overwhelmed Hebi's mind like a tide of oil ready to ignite and cover his conscience in fire with a single spark. Hatred for the Plaguelord, who had disregarded the threat of these pests, their names strangely hidden from his precious book.
"...Would you have been wrought with fear if their names were in the Bubonicus, 'Plaguelord?'" He mocked with a whisper, making his way down the tower staircase, only to be accosted by a troupe of Stormvermin blocking his way with puncturing voulges.
"What is the meaning of-of this? Step aside, before I skin you for this betrayal!" A startled Hebi demanded while the seven armoured Rats smiled with evil coursing through their red eyes. Before Hebi's angered mind could spew any further venom, one of the rotting axe poles tore into his neck, releasing Hebi's head from the rest of his neck -- a crawling horde of bugs emerged from holes within his half eaten body, grasped in the hands of their host's vanquisher.
"Lord Jujue sends his thank-regards, traitor-rat." The walking carcass taunted, munching upon the remains of the supposed Skryre accomplice. "Treaty with Skreptch is terminated now-now."
Hebi's body did not squish as the Stormvermin kicked him down from the high tower, but rather crumbled like a shattered vase once it hit the solid ground.
"I get around..." Anglermaw replied with a sneer, half forgetting his trusty hookarm when it radiated as he caressed his matted snout. Then he turned his head to Celedron, who had kindly blown the Sea-Rat's once trusted heirloom to smithereens, if only to save the group's lives. "...We're wastin' time, for Rat's sake! All we need is a break for the Ark an' we're clean-golden." He complained, twitching his beak back and forth at the multiple threats with stress, and paranoia at those that could not be seen. The vision of a charging Stormvermin barely caught his jeweled eye in the coming mist, the rival's own beady vision filled with disregard for the life of a fellow Ratkin. Anglermaw sidestepped the creature's corrugated halberd as it swing, gounging the lesser Rat in the side with a thud from his hook, and left to fall upon the ground with a spewing orifice of red.
"S'why they made me Claw-Admiral!" Anglermaw taunted, now a slave to sudden adrenaline.
--
Above the stalagmite range, Hebi looked down to the field with newfound disgust. The warriors of Skryre, humbled by a rag-tag group of no-furs and a defector from a thrall clan. The Priest's claws dug into the gaping crevices within his palms squishing the buzzing parasites that made their home within his festering body. "Skreptch's army and my Rat Ogre, humiliated by outsiders..." Hatred overwhelmed Hebi's mind like a tide of oil ready to ignite and cover his conscience in fire with a single spark. Hatred for the Plaguelord, who had disregarded the threat of these pests, their names strangely hidden from his precious book.
"...Would you have been wrought with fear if their names were in the Bubonicus, 'Plaguelord?'" He mocked with a whisper, making his way down the tower staircase, only to be accosted by a troupe of Stormvermin blocking his way with puncturing voulges.
"What is the meaning of-of this? Step aside, before I skin you for this betrayal!" A startled Hebi demanded while the seven armoured Rats smiled with evil coursing through their red eyes. Before Hebi's angered mind could spew any further venom, one of the rotting axe poles tore into his neck, releasing Hebi's head from the rest of his neck -- a crawling horde of bugs emerged from holes within his half eaten body, grasped in the hands of their host's vanquisher.
"Lord Jujue sends his thank-regards, traitor-rat." The walking carcass taunted, munching upon the remains of the supposed Skryre accomplice. "Treaty with Skreptch is terminated now-now."
Hebi's body did not squish as the Stormvermin kicked him down from the high tower, but rather crumbled like a shattered vase once it hit the solid ground.
Steel bashed against variably crafted qualities as sparks flew. As Falderan parried the approaching Stormvermin. The rats smelt foul and the appearance of numerous pustules on their rotting bodies did nothing to alleviate the foul appearances of the beasts. They screeched madly like rabid animals as a second and third came up to Fal. Side stepping one blade he jabbed the side of the other to deflect it past his head. The blades seemed to have some form of rust or mold on them. Fal suspected this was more for added effect than a sign of poor quality. The first swung back with it's short sword as the trio pushed back on the Elf. If it was a set of more disciplined troops he'd be in trouble. But the frantic movements and crazed attacks left them open. Ducking and sweeping his leg Fal tripped the middle and sent him tumbling into the one to his right. The rats fell over with a clambering of armour as they flailed their tails madly.The one that remained standing bashed Fal with it's shield. Hitting his shoulder and wincing the warrior. As it went in for the kill with it's blade it stumbled back. Fall rolled away and saw in the eye of the rodent was a dart.
As Anglermaw took out the first attacker a second was taken down by a team attack from the Skinks. As the flash of lightning sprayed out down the tunnel the two Chameleon's looked over to see the fight between their leader and the Engineer of the Skaven. Witnessing him beating down the Skaven the sight of three armoured Stormvermin overpowering the other Elf drew their attention. One stayed back to help Celedron and Anglermaw as a group of cautious slaves scurry through the tunnels. The other leapt up and with blowgun in hand shot at the one that went for Fal. Getting it's eye as it's sword rose it stumbled back and felt its face puff. Putting aside his blowgun the Skink drew his cleaver and bashed the Skaven down. Applying several swift strikes to the head. Combined with the poison the rat died with a bulbous and bleeding head. The two rats on the ground snarled at one another as they stood up but found it too late. Fall slashed down and sliced the muzzle off one as a club bashed in the butchered remains of it's face. The other took a swing but missed and Fal's blade found itself in the rats wrist. Dropping the blade it squeaked in pain. Pulling out and with a flourish and turn Fal drove the blade into the rodents chest dropping it.
As the Stormvermin were finished off Chi-noee continued his assault. The Engineer known as Technusk was barely able to hold off against the fierce swings. Wrists raised in panic he felt his arms tiring. Seeing the elite Stormvermin taken down in the corner of his eye led him to defecate himself. In a last ditch attempt to save himself he channeled warp energy as his armour crackled with power. His fingertips crackled with power and the air fell into an electrified state. Chi-noee felt the change and saw the danger he was in. Taking a final swing he leapt back as Technusk cackled. Raising his hand to fire a fierce bolt of Warplightning his body locked up. A look of relief changed to terror as the energy surrounding him grew stronger but wouldn't be projected.
"Dagh!" He cried as the build up of energy within him overloaded his body. His eyes glowed a vibrant warpstone green and bones snapped as the sudden, panicked build up of energy filled his body. A moment later his rigid hand he pointed at the Skink split apart as warp energy ripped the flesh from his bones. Travelling up his body the Skaven screamed as his body war torn apart and burst into flames. Cooking him within his armour and leaving scorched armour and a burnt skeleton behind as his flesh melted away. A final pop led him to fall down dead. A foul side effect of using such unstable magic.
As Anglermaw took out the first attacker a second was taken down by a team attack from the Skinks. As the flash of lightning sprayed out down the tunnel the two Chameleon's looked over to see the fight between their leader and the Engineer of the Skaven. Witnessing him beating down the Skaven the sight of three armoured Stormvermin overpowering the other Elf drew their attention. One stayed back to help Celedron and Anglermaw as a group of cautious slaves scurry through the tunnels. The other leapt up and with blowgun in hand shot at the one that went for Fal. Getting it's eye as it's sword rose it stumbled back and felt its face puff. Putting aside his blowgun the Skink drew his cleaver and bashed the Skaven down. Applying several swift strikes to the head. Combined with the poison the rat died with a bulbous and bleeding head. The two rats on the ground snarled at one another as they stood up but found it too late. Fall slashed down and sliced the muzzle off one as a club bashed in the butchered remains of it's face. The other took a swing but missed and Fal's blade found itself in the rats wrist. Dropping the blade it squeaked in pain. Pulling out and with a flourish and turn Fal drove the blade into the rodents chest dropping it.
As the Stormvermin were finished off Chi-noee continued his assault. The Engineer known as Technusk was barely able to hold off against the fierce swings. Wrists raised in panic he felt his arms tiring. Seeing the elite Stormvermin taken down in the corner of his eye led him to defecate himself. In a last ditch attempt to save himself he channeled warp energy as his armour crackled with power. His fingertips crackled with power and the air fell into an electrified state. Chi-noee felt the change and saw the danger he was in. Taking a final swing he leapt back as Technusk cackled. Raising his hand to fire a fierce bolt of Warplightning his body locked up. A look of relief changed to terror as the energy surrounding him grew stronger but wouldn't be projected.
"Dagh!" He cried as the build up of energy within him overloaded his body. His eyes glowed a vibrant warpstone green and bones snapped as the sudden, panicked build up of energy filled his body. A moment later his rigid hand he pointed at the Skink split apart as warp energy ripped the flesh from his bones. Travelling up his body the Skaven screamed as his body war torn apart and burst into flames. Cooking him within his armour and leaving scorched armour and a burnt skeleton behind as his flesh melted away. A final pop led him to fall down dead. A foul side effect of using such unstable magic.
"Well, that's one Lord-thing smoked." Anglermaw commented on the sizzling remains of Technusk, scratching the palm of his free claw in chittering vigilance as his swaying beak surveyed the chaos. They were surrounded on three fronts: Judging by the accapella of snarls and hisses that seemed to radiate from the horde of elite Stormvermin, the death of a few of their kin was simply not enough to deter the legion that approached. Behind Celedron and Hans, the sorcerous cloud of smog that belched from the overhead spear of flesh did not dissipate. Soon the trench that once gave them cover from the Rat tide became a bed of sickly green gas, the waves of smoke seemed to form abstract faces of silent, but profound suffering. The Sea-Rat's ears caught the sound of gory fissures in the mist, a fountain of red ichor splattering with each pop. Anglermaw gazed into the mist, cringing in disgust as he realised the corpses of those caught within were beginning to burst.
A newfound sense of urgency grasped at his fast beating heart; he could no longer hold back the Skaven urge to fight or fly.
"Great Sigmar-Rat, for the last bleedin' time!" He whined aloud, scampering away as much as he could before the vapour could catch him within it's embrace. "We. Have. To. Get OUTTA HERE-HERE!"
As for Mokte, his dead lock with the Ogre remained unclear. The putrid curses and blessings of decay annointed upon this beast seemed to weaken the infernal enchantments of Mokte's own cleaver. While the gangrenous flesh burned with each stride and collision of cleaver and prosthetic club it became reknitted by buzzing familiars hidden within larvel tunnels upon the Ogre's body. Until finally the Saurus received his chance in the form of bestial impetuousness. It seemed the duel was getting to the frantic creature. Once again it slammed it's crystalline arms into the air like glowing boulders. Although this time, Mokte did not dodge the blow, countering an overhead slash of his own. As it would happen, his would be the quicker strike. His cleaver smashed into the skull of the overgrown rodent, carving through the patchwork until he'd half bisected his enemy to two drooping halves of a torso.
Mokte's rodent onlookers quaked with terror at the sight of defeat, chittering with awe and despair while the Saurus removed the squelching cleaver with little regard for his audience. It was a minute taste of serenity, until his snout caught the scent of a gut-wretching odour far stronger than the mound of rotten flesh in front of him. Urged to look back, it seemed the lance thrown at him had born pestilent fruit. Mokte's eyes widened as the petrified creatures caught within began to struggle and bloat -- the sudden explosions of gore were enough to send the lesser clanrats into a state of terror for their lives. They scampered away soonafter, leaving the Saurus to watch disgust while they retreated in obliviousness -- Panicked natterings in Queekish were soon abound as the flimsy horde raced back to the hillside.
As more Skaven began to die within the shroud, Mokte quickly regrouped with his allies, his entrance marked by a charge that sent a group of armoured Stormvermin crashing into the still bay.
At least now, they were only pincered on two fronts.
"Sunami, you're our guide, so what do you propose?" Mokte wondered, ignorant to the vividly clear danger they were in.
"Bridge! Ark! Now!" The Sea-Rat pointed frantically. Mokte surveyed the metal juggernaut upon the bay, separated merely by a rickety bridge, and a strobe of muliple lasers aimed toward their figures as lime reticles became alight upon the bodies of the group. Crystalline bolts the size of pebbles fired in their direction.
A newfound sense of urgency grasped at his fast beating heart; he could no longer hold back the Skaven urge to fight or fly.
"Great Sigmar-Rat, for the last bleedin' time!" He whined aloud, scampering away as much as he could before the vapour could catch him within it's embrace. "We. Have. To. Get OUTTA HERE-HERE!"
As for Mokte, his dead lock with the Ogre remained unclear. The putrid curses and blessings of decay annointed upon this beast seemed to weaken the infernal enchantments of Mokte's own cleaver. While the gangrenous flesh burned with each stride and collision of cleaver and prosthetic club it became reknitted by buzzing familiars hidden within larvel tunnels upon the Ogre's body. Until finally the Saurus received his chance in the form of bestial impetuousness. It seemed the duel was getting to the frantic creature. Once again it slammed it's crystalline arms into the air like glowing boulders. Although this time, Mokte did not dodge the blow, countering an overhead slash of his own. As it would happen, his would be the quicker strike. His cleaver smashed into the skull of the overgrown rodent, carving through the patchwork until he'd half bisected his enemy to two drooping halves of a torso.
Mokte's rodent onlookers quaked with terror at the sight of defeat, chittering with awe and despair while the Saurus removed the squelching cleaver with little regard for his audience. It was a minute taste of serenity, until his snout caught the scent of a gut-wretching odour far stronger than the mound of rotten flesh in front of him. Urged to look back, it seemed the lance thrown at him had born pestilent fruit. Mokte's eyes widened as the petrified creatures caught within began to struggle and bloat -- the sudden explosions of gore were enough to send the lesser clanrats into a state of terror for their lives. They scampered away soonafter, leaving the Saurus to watch disgust while they retreated in obliviousness -- Panicked natterings in Queekish were soon abound as the flimsy horde raced back to the hillside.
As more Skaven began to die within the shroud, Mokte quickly regrouped with his allies, his entrance marked by a charge that sent a group of armoured Stormvermin crashing into the still bay.
At least now, they were only pincered on two fronts.
"Sunami, you're our guide, so what do you propose?" Mokte wondered, ignorant to the vividly clear danger they were in.
"Bridge! Ark! Now!" The Sea-Rat pointed frantically. Mokte surveyed the metal juggernaut upon the bay, separated merely by a rickety bridge, and a strobe of muliple lasers aimed toward their figures as lime reticles became alight upon the bodies of the group. Crystalline bolts the size of pebbles fired in their direction.
A moment of clarity appeared for Falderan as the Skaven Engineer was destroyed by his own magic. The flickering blood lust within him faded and dulled down as the cries for feeding from his sword fell into a mumbling whisper. Shaking himself back he looked over to the skulking form of Chi-noee. Now watching as remaining Stormvermin and lesser rats fled in terror. Chi-noee turned back and noticed likely the last two of his Chameleon Skink companions. He went to go meet with them but stopped in his tracks and froze. Eyes wide with fear as he saw the foul green mist filling the area. Despite having no magical inclination he could tell it was toxic and deadly.
"Chowa dichi!" He chirps and the Chameleons look back. Leaping back and making their way to Chi-noee Fal is taken aback. Looking over he sees a rat burst in the mist.
"Move!" He shouts back as he remembers Hans and the others there.
Having recovered from the initial strike Celedron crawled to his feet and looked out as Skaven fled. The battle around him began to quiet and he noticed Anglermaw's speaking but not taking the words. A foul odor took up his senses.
"What is." He said stopping mid sentence when he sees the body of a rodent blister and burst. Looking about the green mist it revealed to him. The tingling on his skin reveals some form of magic and not willing to fall prey to more foul sorcery he begins climbing from the ditch. As he does he hears the chittering of Skinks and then the panicked voice of Falderan. Anglermaw's words hit him now. However, before he can respond the roar of a victorious Mokte comes out as he leaps down to them. Nervous he looks up at the beast.
"Get the boy, we need to move." He says coughing up a light flem with speckles of blood. His gaze turns from concern to fear with this realization. Not wasting a moment he climbs out and heads over to Falderan. Behind him he sees the Skinks run off on their own way. The group now ready to flee the magical poison and push on the Ark.
Inside the Ark a panicked scout runs through the metal halls clanking claws on the metal floor. The Skaven wore simple grey garbs with a small eyeglass in its right hand. Making his way into the primary chamber where Skreptch worked. Bursting into the room he begs mercy. Having another rodent burst into his chamber and disrupt his work in such a short period brought his already steaming blood to a boil.
"What-what now!" Skreptch snaps as small bits of warp lightning spit off his weapon. The rat cowers as sizzling energy tickles his fur.
"My lord-master. There was a problem with. With." Skreptch slams his staph.
"With?" He glares.
"Engineer Technusk my most merciful lord. He-he. Well." He makes a exploding gesture with him hands and the sound with his mouth. Skreptch's eyes twitch.
"He blew up?" He asks with an artificial calmness.
"Yes. Saw it with my own eye." Skreptch pauses after hearing this. Looking over to the messenger he say in a slow, menacing tone.
"Get out." The Skaven wastes no time in leaving. Closing the door behind himself and running. The other rats in the chamber pause and look to Skreptch. The rat lets out an angry cry that echoes within the chamber and swings his staph to his desk. Shattering an ornate figure of the Horned Rats bell. The others in the room cower. The one nearest the desk peers over as fragments of metal fly past. Skreptch pants and looks to the rat by the desk and his shattered figure. "Look what you did-did. Fix! Now!" He cries and the frightened rat gathers the pieces and runs to repair them having been made responsible by Skreptch. "They come for the Ark then." He says under his breath and turning. "Lock down the bridge. No no fur shall enter!" He says with a mighty slam of his weapons hilt. Energy crackles as Skaven run to relay his orders.
"Chowa dichi!" He chirps and the Chameleons look back. Leaping back and making their way to Chi-noee Fal is taken aback. Looking over he sees a rat burst in the mist.
"Move!" He shouts back as he remembers Hans and the others there.
Having recovered from the initial strike Celedron crawled to his feet and looked out as Skaven fled. The battle around him began to quiet and he noticed Anglermaw's speaking but not taking the words. A foul odor took up his senses.
"What is." He said stopping mid sentence when he sees the body of a rodent blister and burst. Looking about the green mist it revealed to him. The tingling on his skin reveals some form of magic and not willing to fall prey to more foul sorcery he begins climbing from the ditch. As he does he hears the chittering of Skinks and then the panicked voice of Falderan. Anglermaw's words hit him now. However, before he can respond the roar of a victorious Mokte comes out as he leaps down to them. Nervous he looks up at the beast.
"Get the boy, we need to move." He says coughing up a light flem with speckles of blood. His gaze turns from concern to fear with this realization. Not wasting a moment he climbs out and heads over to Falderan. Behind him he sees the Skinks run off on their own way. The group now ready to flee the magical poison and push on the Ark.
Inside the Ark a panicked scout runs through the metal halls clanking claws on the metal floor. The Skaven wore simple grey garbs with a small eyeglass in its right hand. Making his way into the primary chamber where Skreptch worked. Bursting into the room he begs mercy. Having another rodent burst into his chamber and disrupt his work in such a short period brought his already steaming blood to a boil.
"What-what now!" Skreptch snaps as small bits of warp lightning spit off his weapon. The rat cowers as sizzling energy tickles his fur.
"My lord-master. There was a problem with. With." Skreptch slams his staph.
"With?" He glares.
"Engineer Technusk my most merciful lord. He-he. Well." He makes a exploding gesture with him hands and the sound with his mouth. Skreptch's eyes twitch.
"He blew up?" He asks with an artificial calmness.
"Yes. Saw it with my own eye." Skreptch pauses after hearing this. Looking over to the messenger he say in a slow, menacing tone.
"Get out." The Skaven wastes no time in leaving. Closing the door behind himself and running. The other rats in the chamber pause and look to Skreptch. The rat lets out an angry cry that echoes within the chamber and swings his staph to his desk. Shattering an ornate figure of the Horned Rats bell. The others in the room cower. The one nearest the desk peers over as fragments of metal fly past. Skreptch pants and looks to the rat by the desk and his shattered figure. "Look what you did-did. Fix! Now!" He cries and the frightened rat gathers the pieces and runs to repair them having been made responsible by Skreptch. "They come for the Ark then." He says under his breath and turning. "Lock down the bridge. No no fur shall enter!" He says with a mighty slam of his weapons hilt. Energy crackles as Skaven run to relay his orders.
From atop the Ark, Skaven sharpshooters thrust their ruby eye down the scope of their rifles, the outline of the group plain within their sickly green crosshairs, separating the rag-tag folk from the fleeing Rats much in part to Skryre's insidious technology. "Target sighted!" Spat one of the sharpshooters, a shattering whir marking his shot as a crystalline beam flew toward Mokte's broad figure, barely missing his feet. He flinched in surprise, snatching a solemn Hans before the bloody fog could envelop the Human, whom gave no resistance while the Saurus lifted him like a child. The holy cleaver in one claw and a limp Warm-blood in the other, Mokte crouched like a preying cheetah ready for the sprint -- As the vanguard, he swore in his mind that he would not break for the rodents that held them.
They had little time for plans; the encroaching fog stood for neither friend or foe. Anglermaw surveyed the Pit in horror while more unfortunate Clanrats caught within the haze became living grenades as they ran for safety, the disintegration of their silhouettes stirred the wide-eyed Sea-Rat into a frenzy. He turned to his companions by the bridge, themselves now steeled by the sight of explosive vermin.
"Let's get going, for Rat's sake!" Hissed Anglermaw, another lime strobe barely missing his pirate crown, making him shiver with adrenaline. "We'll end up worm chow either way!" He continued to protest, swinging and swaying his hookarm to convey his own stress. Two more pellets pinged across the cold soil before the Saurus decided that the time for planning was out of the question. The third bolt would caress the crown of an unfortunate Skink caught in the crossfire, turning the hissing beak into a fragmented, slobbering pile of quivering flesh.
A charge from the Saurus ensued -- the breach into No Man's Land under a barrage of green strobes, an ambivelant Hans still wrestled across his arm.
They had little time for plans; the encroaching fog stood for neither friend or foe. Anglermaw surveyed the Pit in horror while more unfortunate Clanrats caught within the haze became living grenades as they ran for safety, the disintegration of their silhouettes stirred the wide-eyed Sea-Rat into a frenzy. He turned to his companions by the bridge, themselves now steeled by the sight of explosive vermin.
"Let's get going, for Rat's sake!" Hissed Anglermaw, another lime strobe barely missing his pirate crown, making him shiver with adrenaline. "We'll end up worm chow either way!" He continued to protest, swinging and swaying his hookarm to convey his own stress. Two more pellets pinged across the cold soil before the Saurus decided that the time for planning was out of the question. The third bolt would caress the crown of an unfortunate Skink caught in the crossfire, turning the hissing beak into a fragmented, slobbering pile of quivering flesh.
A charge from the Saurus ensued -- the breach into No Man's Land under a barrage of green strobes, an ambivelant Hans still wrestled across his arm.
As near missing strips of lime light hit around the group as they moved, dipping and swerving in a panic chaos was in the air. Pure and unrelenting anarchy as warpstone bullets narrowly missed them all. Hitting their feet or stripping the sides of their clothes. Taking traces of stone or fabric with themselves. Fal managed to slide behind an out cropped building. A strange shack of some kind. As he slide a bullet hit above his head. Half a second slower and he'd have been splattered across the dim pavement. He clenched his sword tightly. Celedron leapt to the floor but unlike Fal wasn't as lucky. His leap saved his head as he moved into an open door frame but his rear wasn't. Slicing across the top of his left cheek he got off easy but the rip in flesh and cloth was felt. He froze in pain. Seeing the bullet shattered on the wall beside himself. He felt back and retrieving his hand saw the thick, warm blood. He winced as another bullet rushed past his head.
The sight of their fellow being shot dead drove Chi-noee and the other Chameleon into a frenzy. Sprinting and strafing like the smallest gecko they swerved to the nearby buildings.
"Nooie." He snaps at Fal and indicates up with a push of his snout. Fal looks up and as the Skink hits him he takes a guess. Thrusting his wrist up as Chi-noee leaps off it to grab the ledge. The Chameleon followed suit and the two begin elegantly climbing the buildings to reach the guard towers.
Skaven gunners kept firing till their weapons sizzled with heat. Taking a moment to let them cool and gather more bullets one took note of the Skinks. The on the opposite side to what they were going for.
"There there!" A spotter said. Sitting in pairs of two with a gunner and spotter the two would act similarly to the warpfire weapons teams in cooperation. Twisting and rotating around the gunner used the down time to re-position. Trying to take aim proved difficult but it did alleviate the firing on the group by one of six teams. The other four were located inside the Ark atop railings and balconies aimed at the gate. The current two were just outside the gate in shanty made lookout towers. As this occurred word from Skreptch came and the large metallic gates began to close with a creak.
The sight of their fellow being shot dead drove Chi-noee and the other Chameleon into a frenzy. Sprinting and strafing like the smallest gecko they swerved to the nearby buildings.
"Nooie." He snaps at Fal and indicates up with a push of his snout. Fal looks up and as the Skink hits him he takes a guess. Thrusting his wrist up as Chi-noee leaps off it to grab the ledge. The Chameleon followed suit and the two begin elegantly climbing the buildings to reach the guard towers.
Skaven gunners kept firing till their weapons sizzled with heat. Taking a moment to let them cool and gather more bullets one took note of the Skinks. The on the opposite side to what they were going for.
"There there!" A spotter said. Sitting in pairs of two with a gunner and spotter the two would act similarly to the warpfire weapons teams in cooperation. Twisting and rotating around the gunner used the down time to re-position. Trying to take aim proved difficult but it did alleviate the firing on the group by one of six teams. The other four were located inside the Ark atop railings and balconies aimed at the gate. The current two were just outside the gate in shanty made lookout towers. As this occurred word from Skreptch came and the large metallic gates began to close with a creak.
Clenched under Mokte's bosom, Hans flinched under a cosmic sensation -- a shiver that made his gormless face wince in discomfort, even while being carried like a living ragdoll by the great lizard. A sharp pain crept over Hans' lined face, it's epicenter close to where Celedron's cheek had been cut by the Skaven pellet. He was governed by a desperate slither of free will, protruding his arm outward toward the Loremaster's figure in the distance, clawing his hand to grab the air while an ignorant Mokte weathered the storm of bullets. Celedron held the whistle after all -- the extension of Nahwa's will and the lockbox to the young man's addled subconscience. Any harm to that artifact was therefore harm to Hans himself. He squirmed for freedom to escape back to Celedron under the crossfire, but Mokte's grip put an iron gibbet to shame; there was no contest. The Saurus simply mistook Hans' struggle as a loosened clutch.
The Sea-Rat followed from behind, visibly becalmed by the group's willing meat shield soaking the necessary shots. Of course, he was still frantic about the Ark, for the mist of anguished faces behind them cared for no single target. The rickety bridge seemed to creak and croak alarmingly even under the steady pattering of Anglermaw's feet, his superior reflexes preventing him from becoming a riddled mess like the unfortunate Skink, whose cold blood splurged across Anglermaw's uniform like a hose of crimson. Worn, half-gnawed floorboards scattered and splintered under the force of warp-infused gunpowder, the still bay below the bridge soon became a jade inferno as malleable flames danced and melted away the rotting columns behind the group. These guns were beyond the stopping power of any rifle made by either Dwarf or Man-thing, powered by electronic currents attached to the power source of the Ark, the explosions of their pellets thanks to the volatile nature of warpstone.
Which did their wielders no favours when in their frenzy to put down these intruders, one of the rifles caught fire and blew out. A lime blip spewed from above the Ark's nest when a sharpshooter was turned to soot by the agitated core of his weapon. "Damn-forget him." The Captain among these shooters demanded, giving the adventurers a second of peace as they looked back to the shadow of their disintegrated fellow, his remains nothing more than scattered ash and a sizzling, shattered rifle. "K-Keep firing I say-say!" Queekish orders were replied with silent compliance.
Soon, Mokte neared the steel drawbridge of the Ark, opposite to a nest of tall watchposts including one that had caught fire due to the overuse of those unreliable handguns. The gunners within hidden by a veil of dying vines as the pointed glowing rifles betrayed their presence. None of the shards had yet hit him outright, though his path was marked by broken platforms behind him that made crossing the bridge a chore for those behind him, Anglermaw himself being forced to hop across exposed columns lofted above the putrid water. It was not the time to guess what abominations could be hidden under the shade of urine-tinted water.
Behind them, the deathly fog had begun to dissipate as soon as it arrived, giving all within the Pit a terrible sense of clarity once the fountainous remains of unlucky Skaven were made visible. Something was off, however, as the whistle upon Celedron began emit a dark green tint that replaced the once cyan glow. This fog had not simply worn off, but had infact become dispelled.
The Sea-Rat followed from behind, visibly becalmed by the group's willing meat shield soaking the necessary shots. Of course, he was still frantic about the Ark, for the mist of anguished faces behind them cared for no single target. The rickety bridge seemed to creak and croak alarmingly even under the steady pattering of Anglermaw's feet, his superior reflexes preventing him from becoming a riddled mess like the unfortunate Skink, whose cold blood splurged across Anglermaw's uniform like a hose of crimson. Worn, half-gnawed floorboards scattered and splintered under the force of warp-infused gunpowder, the still bay below the bridge soon became a jade inferno as malleable flames danced and melted away the rotting columns behind the group. These guns were beyond the stopping power of any rifle made by either Dwarf or Man-thing, powered by electronic currents attached to the power source of the Ark, the explosions of their pellets thanks to the volatile nature of warpstone.
Which did their wielders no favours when in their frenzy to put down these intruders, one of the rifles caught fire and blew out. A lime blip spewed from above the Ark's nest when a sharpshooter was turned to soot by the agitated core of his weapon. "Damn-forget him." The Captain among these shooters demanded, giving the adventurers a second of peace as they looked back to the shadow of their disintegrated fellow, his remains nothing more than scattered ash and a sizzling, shattered rifle. "K-Keep firing I say-say!" Queekish orders were replied with silent compliance.
Soon, Mokte neared the steel drawbridge of the Ark, opposite to a nest of tall watchposts including one that had caught fire due to the overuse of those unreliable handguns. The gunners within hidden by a veil of dying vines as the pointed glowing rifles betrayed their presence. None of the shards had yet hit him outright, though his path was marked by broken platforms behind him that made crossing the bridge a chore for those behind him, Anglermaw himself being forced to hop across exposed columns lofted above the putrid water. It was not the time to guess what abominations could be hidden under the shade of urine-tinted water.
Behind them, the deathly fog had begun to dissipate as soon as it arrived, giving all within the Pit a terrible sense of clarity once the fountainous remains of unlucky Skaven were made visible. Something was off, however, as the whistle upon Celedron began emit a dark green tint that replaced the once cyan glow. This fog had not simply worn off, but had infact become dispelled.
A fierce twang of the metal clip blasting off a sharp shard of warpstone rang out as a bullet approached the remaining Skinks. Moving to the side of one of the shanty towers the shot missed and split a fist sized crater in the roof behind them. Their inhuman, reptilian agility was on full display as they began climbing. Leaping up the side and grasping on wooden beams they threw themselves up. Tails used as counterweights to let them keep balance as another bullet ran past Chi-noee's shoulder. Flying into the dimly lit area beyond them. The Skinks moved with a newfound vigor as they managed to reach the top. Chi-noee pulls out his club as a panicked Skaven jumped back leaving his gunner.
The gunner tried to relocate the gun but a swift strike from the Chameleon Skink disoriented him. A club to the face made him fall back with a gaping, bleeding wound on his snout. Flicking out it's tongue like a lash the Skink hit the Skaven in the eye and he tumbled back, falling over the tower. Shrieks of terror came out as he fell and on the ground a sickening crack left the mangled remains in a crimson pool. Chi-noee's target was no luckier. Trying to pull back he found himself on the receiving end of a warpstone bullet. Seeing the glint in the darkness Chi-noee managed to bring the Skaven he was beating in front of the projectile. A split second decision that burst open the Skaven's back. Bone and flesh blew apart as the powerful bullet quickly killed the unfortunate Skaven. With their prey nullified the Skinks moved. Throwing he corpse and kicking down the rifle they quickly began descending by leaping down the towers beams. The shot Skaven splat much like the first and the rifle smacked against the wooden towers beams as it tumbled to the floor. Cracked and damaged but still in one piece.
Celedron was stuck down. Not risking moving in case the rats were being smart for once. Waiting for him to reveal himself. He hunkered down within the doorway and waited for some confirmation of safety. He felt the wound on his rear. The blood was thick but thankfully nothing lethal. Meanwhile Fal saw the rifle fall and took his chance. Swallowing his sense of fear Fal got up and made a break for it. He got to the weapon and took it up. Looking it over he saw the strange complexity of it. Having trained with some imperial rifles during his service within the Empire Fal was able to work his way around the gun. The damage from the fall was severe but it seemed stable. Looking over the Skaven's corpse he manages to find some weirdly shaped warpstone bullets. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He loads it up and raises his leg to use as a base. The scope on the top was small and knocked somewhat off centre. Fal took up aim at the other gunner. Trying to make some rough adjustments he took a breath and fired. The rebound smacked into his leg and hurt him. He winced and tossed it. The bullet went straight and true hitting the Skaven funner in the forearm. The round pierced through and snapped bone as the Skaven screamed out. The gun went flying as he panicked and it flung off the edge. Fal smirked and tried to roll away to hide and let his hurt leg recover for a minute.
The gunner tried to relocate the gun but a swift strike from the Chameleon Skink disoriented him. A club to the face made him fall back with a gaping, bleeding wound on his snout. Flicking out it's tongue like a lash the Skink hit the Skaven in the eye and he tumbled back, falling over the tower. Shrieks of terror came out as he fell and on the ground a sickening crack left the mangled remains in a crimson pool. Chi-noee's target was no luckier. Trying to pull back he found himself on the receiving end of a warpstone bullet. Seeing the glint in the darkness Chi-noee managed to bring the Skaven he was beating in front of the projectile. A split second decision that burst open the Skaven's back. Bone and flesh blew apart as the powerful bullet quickly killed the unfortunate Skaven. With their prey nullified the Skinks moved. Throwing he corpse and kicking down the rifle they quickly began descending by leaping down the towers beams. The shot Skaven splat much like the first and the rifle smacked against the wooden towers beams as it tumbled to the floor. Cracked and damaged but still in one piece.
Celedron was stuck down. Not risking moving in case the rats were being smart for once. Waiting for him to reveal himself. He hunkered down within the doorway and waited for some confirmation of safety. He felt the wound on his rear. The blood was thick but thankfully nothing lethal. Meanwhile Fal saw the rifle fall and took his chance. Swallowing his sense of fear Fal got up and made a break for it. He got to the weapon and took it up. Looking it over he saw the strange complexity of it. Having trained with some imperial rifles during his service within the Empire Fal was able to work his way around the gun. The damage from the fall was severe but it seemed stable. Looking over the Skaven's corpse he manages to find some weirdly shaped warpstone bullets. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He loads it up and raises his leg to use as a base. The scope on the top was small and knocked somewhat off centre. Fal took up aim at the other gunner. Trying to make some rough adjustments he took a breath and fired. The rebound smacked into his leg and hurt him. He winced and tossed it. The bullet went straight and true hitting the Skaven funner in the forearm. The round pierced through and snapped bone as the Skaven screamed out. The gun went flying as he panicked and it flung off the edge. Fal smirked and tried to roll away to hide and let his hurt leg recover for a minute.
A cacophany of loud splashes rung upon the Sea-Rat's ears, the boggy residue dabbing onto his matted fur and absorbing within the wretched wood and bark upon the bridge. The crumbling of these towers marred Anglermaw's path in front, his instincts taking full control as mossy watchposts loomed and smashed in front of his figure, creating for him a new, makeshift path as much of the bridge became splintered and parted by warp-infused projectiles. He could hear the gunners struggle for their lives under the yellow tinted pool, either scraping their claws upon the water to stay afloat as they drowned, or caught under the residue of green warpfire. Either death was not pretty, he brooded in a merciful half-second of thought, but the kinship he felt to his fellow Ratfolk was simply too fargone now. This was not kinslaughter for Anglermaw -- this was now pesticide.
As he skittered across the newly made platforms, The Sea-Rat noticed an ongoing crossfire of dazzling lime sparking from the watchtowers and the Ark. 'Why were they firing at eachother?' Wondered Anglermaw, brought to a halt as he raised his brow in confusion. He surveyed the derelict waters over by the deserted shantytown, those hidden within thrown down to the soil by Chi-noee and Qua-zital's retinue. The Sea-Rat's jeweled eyes spotted Falderan's lanky figure hidden within. He could only smirk as the onslaught lessened, enough for Anglermaw to regain his composure.
'I'll 'ave to thank 'im when all is done.' He muttered gratefully under his breath. Now was the time to catch up with Mokte and silent Brunswick, scamping on all four limbs to leap by the Saurus' side. Thanks to the assistance of the Skinks, Mokte had already reached the drawbridge. The four Stormvermin guardians were not a challenge, even with their strange automated weapons of revving warpstone -- with the cleaver he painted the Ark's surface in red as the proud Rats foolishly charged, splashing their quartered bodies like projectiles and rendering them silent. The watchtower beside the Ark was much too focused on Anglermaw -- comical, almost inappropriate nattings of 'EEK' and 'ACK' escaped his maw as the sparks narrowly caught his figure while he rushed to the drawbridge, using the Saurus as living cover. He picked up one of the Skryre chain halberds discarded by the ramp, still animated by the warpstone nugget within. There were at least four little buttons dotted upon the apparatus, scratchings in queekish designating their mode. Anglermaw could not made do of any, however, the nudge of his hookarm too broad for the already lodged circles. Then he became aware of it's use in this moment; an idea sparked in his mind. With the wooden poles of the watch tower close by, Anglermaw charged with his newfound weapon back down the drawbridge, lodging the loudly revving blade upon the splintering wood. The gunners above panicked for their lives as the chain halberd disassembled the structure.
The remaining pillars were not strong enough to hold the post above as they were, twisting and creaking before the shadow of that refuge slowly loomed over the drawbridge, upon where it crashed upon the thick sheet of metal, alongside the bodies of those who could not escape to the still bay. Anglermaw cackled victoriously as the cowards swam for their lives. "Remember who yer dealin' with next time!" He taunted the cretins, before discarding the now smoking chain axe, perforated by gnarled splinters of wood. He lept over the remains of the conquered watch post, kicking the protruding head of a survivor back down the vine cover, knocking the bespeckled Skaven out cold. Mokte was nowhere to be seen. Naught but a trail of blood marked his footprints.
"Mokte! Mister B-Brunswick!" Anglermaw called out, swaying his furred beak side to side. He felt eerily calm upon the Ark, even as it was marred by the burnt, bloody bodies of engineers and stormvermin alike. It was an abstract sense of hearth; he was home at last. His heirloom so close within his grasp, his prize formally contested by unworthy pretenders, like that accursed Zeig-flag, these perpetrators of the so-called great clans, and Sigmar Rat only knew what the Warlord of Skurvy had wrought after the news of Anglermaw's mutiny. He could not even trust his companions, for they would likely kill him once this was all over, for the crime of what he was -- for what he had done beforehand.
'Forget about them.' An insidious voice spoke inside his mind. 'The Ark belongs to no one -- no one but Claw-Admiral Sunami Anglermaw.'
'ZOOM!' The jade spark of warpstone and the roar of a beast brought Anglermaw back to a sense of reality, gnashing his teeth at the deafening noise behind him. He could not let the cravings of his heirloom get to him just yet, not while Skryre and Pestilens still contested for the prize. He followed the bestial footprints toward the opposite end of the Ark's surface until the trail came the discarded body of Hans, still breathing at least upon the ground, but no Mokte to be seen -- The unrecognisable remains that once made up Skaven stormvermin marked the Saurus' warpath.
Anglermaw could only give the meek fellow a shred of attention as he panted loudly. His leg was broken; Mokte had cast him aside, but for what purpose? Even as the Student struggled for breath, he did not speak, he did not cry out for help or ease to his suffering, as he would've perhaps done before all this.
"I'm sorry, lad." The Sea-Rat shook his head in disgust, prodding Hans' heaving chest with the blunt end of his hookarm in apology, the only warmth he could give for now. Then he leapt back to his feet to follow the trail. Upon the opposite mast of the Ark, he found Mokte clutching at a crevise upon his left shoulder. A point blank shot from a jezzail's rifle had parted his shoulder in two. It seemed it's maker hadn't fared much better however, the Cleaver of Tzlipectl half bisecting the masked Skaven, whose nerves still jittered in death, cauterised under the blade's honey glow.
"I could not prevent the Human's injury, Sunami." Mokte lamented in his struggle to stop the flow of blood down his arm. "If I hadn't cast him aside..."
"S'alright." Anglermaw interrupted, becalmed even by the sight of death around them both. "I can see what you're talkin' about, but we ain't got enough time be talkin' like this."
"I must deny you, Absolved-One." Mokte stopped the Sea-Rat. "My wound is too great, the flow will not recede."
"You jokin' me, right-right?" Anglermaw wretched in disapproval. "You can't die yet! That blade is proof, ain't it? Nawha chose you to defend the city! He chose you! Don't give me scat about bleedin' t' death here!"
Mokte remained silent, emotionless under his auric helm.
"Get up, Mokte! By the grace 'o the Sigmar Rat, rise!"
But Mokte would not rise. Instead, his breathing was masked by a ear shattering gong that rang across Anglermaw's ears. The Citadel that loomed over the pit had finally stirred -- it's ancient portcullis raising for a host of hundreds. The shape of a palanquin was hoisted over the masses of zombified rodents, shambling down the hillside. Stalagmites shattered; boulders crashed upon the deserted shanties. Jujue raised his gnarled hands into the still air, followed by a group of chanting monks while a putrid gas the colour of oozing blood followed their trail.
"Clan Pestilens shall not suffer the meddlings of weakling no-furs and perfidious traitor-rats!" The Plaguelord yelled, marred by the gurgling of phlegm across his rotting beak. "From this moment forth-forth, I declare the pact of Skryre and Pestilens invalid, and I claim ownership of the Ark and the soul-spirit within."
As he skittered across the newly made platforms, The Sea-Rat noticed an ongoing crossfire of dazzling lime sparking from the watchtowers and the Ark. 'Why were they firing at eachother?' Wondered Anglermaw, brought to a halt as he raised his brow in confusion. He surveyed the derelict waters over by the deserted shantytown, those hidden within thrown down to the soil by Chi-noee and Qua-zital's retinue. The Sea-Rat's jeweled eyes spotted Falderan's lanky figure hidden within. He could only smirk as the onslaught lessened, enough for Anglermaw to regain his composure.
'I'll 'ave to thank 'im when all is done.' He muttered gratefully under his breath. Now was the time to catch up with Mokte and silent Brunswick, scamping on all four limbs to leap by the Saurus' side. Thanks to the assistance of the Skinks, Mokte had already reached the drawbridge. The four Stormvermin guardians were not a challenge, even with their strange automated weapons of revving warpstone -- with the cleaver he painted the Ark's surface in red as the proud Rats foolishly charged, splashing their quartered bodies like projectiles and rendering them silent. The watchtower beside the Ark was much too focused on Anglermaw -- comical, almost inappropriate nattings of 'EEK' and 'ACK' escaped his maw as the sparks narrowly caught his figure while he rushed to the drawbridge, using the Saurus as living cover. He picked up one of the Skryre chain halberds discarded by the ramp, still animated by the warpstone nugget within. There were at least four little buttons dotted upon the apparatus, scratchings in queekish designating their mode. Anglermaw could not made do of any, however, the nudge of his hookarm too broad for the already lodged circles. Then he became aware of it's use in this moment; an idea sparked in his mind. With the wooden poles of the watch tower close by, Anglermaw charged with his newfound weapon back down the drawbridge, lodging the loudly revving blade upon the splintering wood. The gunners above panicked for their lives as the chain halberd disassembled the structure.
The remaining pillars were not strong enough to hold the post above as they were, twisting and creaking before the shadow of that refuge slowly loomed over the drawbridge, upon where it crashed upon the thick sheet of metal, alongside the bodies of those who could not escape to the still bay. Anglermaw cackled victoriously as the cowards swam for their lives. "Remember who yer dealin' with next time!" He taunted the cretins, before discarding the now smoking chain axe, perforated by gnarled splinters of wood. He lept over the remains of the conquered watch post, kicking the protruding head of a survivor back down the vine cover, knocking the bespeckled Skaven out cold. Mokte was nowhere to be seen. Naught but a trail of blood marked his footprints.
"Mokte! Mister B-Brunswick!" Anglermaw called out, swaying his furred beak side to side. He felt eerily calm upon the Ark, even as it was marred by the burnt, bloody bodies of engineers and stormvermin alike. It was an abstract sense of hearth; he was home at last. His heirloom so close within his grasp, his prize formally contested by unworthy pretenders, like that accursed Zeig-flag, these perpetrators of the so-called great clans, and Sigmar Rat only knew what the Warlord of Skurvy had wrought after the news of Anglermaw's mutiny. He could not even trust his companions, for they would likely kill him once this was all over, for the crime of what he was -- for what he had done beforehand.
'Forget about them.' An insidious voice spoke inside his mind. 'The Ark belongs to no one -- no one but Claw-Admiral Sunami Anglermaw.'
'ZOOM!' The jade spark of warpstone and the roar of a beast brought Anglermaw back to a sense of reality, gnashing his teeth at the deafening noise behind him. He could not let the cravings of his heirloom get to him just yet, not while Skryre and Pestilens still contested for the prize. He followed the bestial footprints toward the opposite end of the Ark's surface until the trail came the discarded body of Hans, still breathing at least upon the ground, but no Mokte to be seen -- The unrecognisable remains that once made up Skaven stormvermin marked the Saurus' warpath.
Anglermaw could only give the meek fellow a shred of attention as he panted loudly. His leg was broken; Mokte had cast him aside, but for what purpose? Even as the Student struggled for breath, he did not speak, he did not cry out for help or ease to his suffering, as he would've perhaps done before all this.
"I'm sorry, lad." The Sea-Rat shook his head in disgust, prodding Hans' heaving chest with the blunt end of his hookarm in apology, the only warmth he could give for now. Then he leapt back to his feet to follow the trail. Upon the opposite mast of the Ark, he found Mokte clutching at a crevise upon his left shoulder. A point blank shot from a jezzail's rifle had parted his shoulder in two. It seemed it's maker hadn't fared much better however, the Cleaver of Tzlipectl half bisecting the masked Skaven, whose nerves still jittered in death, cauterised under the blade's honey glow.
"I could not prevent the Human's injury, Sunami." Mokte lamented in his struggle to stop the flow of blood down his arm. "If I hadn't cast him aside..."
"S'alright." Anglermaw interrupted, becalmed even by the sight of death around them both. "I can see what you're talkin' about, but we ain't got enough time be talkin' like this."
"I must deny you, Absolved-One." Mokte stopped the Sea-Rat. "My wound is too great, the flow will not recede."
"You jokin' me, right-right?" Anglermaw wretched in disapproval. "You can't die yet! That blade is proof, ain't it? Nawha chose you to defend the city! He chose you! Don't give me scat about bleedin' t' death here!"
Mokte remained silent, emotionless under his auric helm.
"Get up, Mokte! By the grace 'o the Sigmar Rat, rise!"
But Mokte would not rise. Instead, his breathing was masked by a ear shattering gong that rang across Anglermaw's ears. The Citadel that loomed over the pit had finally stirred -- it's ancient portcullis raising for a host of hundreds. The shape of a palanquin was hoisted over the masses of zombified rodents, shambling down the hillside. Stalagmites shattered; boulders crashed upon the deserted shanties. Jujue raised his gnarled hands into the still air, followed by a group of chanting monks while a putrid gas the colour of oozing blood followed their trail.
"Clan Pestilens shall not suffer the meddlings of weakling no-furs and perfidious traitor-rats!" The Plaguelord yelled, marred by the gurgling of phlegm across his rotting beak. "From this moment forth-forth, I declare the pact of Skryre and Pestilens invalid, and I claim ownership of the Ark and the soul-spirit within."
As the fighting began to move with Mokte and Anglermaw's advance Fal got up and punched his leg back in place. A firm hit realigned any dislocated bones and sore muscles would need to be tolerated. Seeing the feral cries of Mokte as the beast ran in slaughtering Skaven with Anglermaw behind he made his way up. The Skink assassins were long gone from his sight and as the loud creaking and tumbling of wood ran out Fal saw one of the sniper posts fall down. Crashing over the walls and providing Fal a way in. Despite a few stumbles he managed to make his way in with little trouble. Though as he got in he heard the sounds of struggled breath behind him. Peering down the side of the wall and onto the tower he saw an overworked and tired Celedron climbing.
"You stubborn bastard, refuse to die I see?" He says with a smirk. Celedron hears the light hearted reply as a means of comfort but the situation did not call for it.
"Hardly like we're in the position for jokes." He replied shortly as Fal helped him over. He walked with a faint limp but seemed fine all things considered. The two looked at the carnage ahead and saw Anglermaw run from a wounded Hans. Fal felt his blood boil but noticed the rat didn't hurt him. No blood was between them. As they went to go down into the oddly deserted deck the defying tolling of a bell got them to freeze. The sound was foreboding and the echoing voices of hundreds of chanting rats filled them with dread. "What foulest incarnations are at work?" Celedron asks as they look back to the red mist rising up.
"Not ones I want to experience. Lets move." Fal says looking about. "Wait. Weren't there more gunners?" He asks noticing the fact they were not yet shot at since reaching the walls. But unsure if it was good luck of a trap they decided to move. Whichever it was it would do them no good being in firing range should they return. They moved in to see Hans.
Deeper in the of the Ark the conflict was reported to an aggravated Skreptch. When word of a Saurus making his way inside the following sound was that of fierce lightning and the crack of magic as the poor messenger was eviscerated and blasted into smoldering shards. The fact a no-fur. Especially a reptile made it to the Ark was unforgivable. Skreptch would personally execute any of the gunners or guards should they have had the audacity to survive and not kill their foe. Orders were given and the inner sanctum was locked down. Skreptch sent out the command to pull in all remaining weapons teams and prepare to have an even tighter defense. This sadly would not be possible as the word of Pestelens betrayal reached him. Receiving word that outside the Ark and across the city the Clans were at war. Clanrats of both sides fought and Plague Monks and Engineers fought with foul magic and whatever weapons were on hand. In some cases simple teeth and claws.
"Lockdown the southern bridge. I want all Pestelens rats kill-slaughtered, unload all rounds if you need to. They are to be purged from the Ark and Undercity. Leave no survivors." He gave his commands and all rats that could fled. The seven other Engineers in the room with him where told to keep working and the Ark would not fall while he ruled. As forces were re-positioned the intruders would have an oddly easier time entering until they reached the approach to the Arks core. But most remaining Skaven were sent to defend the other, yet to be closed gate from the forces of Pestelens as the city fell into civil war.
Skreptch looked up at the inbuilt bell and slammed down his weapon's end on the ground.
"Where are you? Tell me! Why have you let all this fall? The Ark cannot be lost to Skryre!" Skreptch went quiet. "Where are you Daemon filth! Show yourself or may the Horned One tear open your foolish form!" Skreptch screamed as he threatened the Daemon they had previously spoken with. Things were going wrong and it could only be due to outside influence. This Daemon was the most outside of outside influences as well.
"You stubborn bastard, refuse to die I see?" He says with a smirk. Celedron hears the light hearted reply as a means of comfort but the situation did not call for it.
"Hardly like we're in the position for jokes." He replied shortly as Fal helped him over. He walked with a faint limp but seemed fine all things considered. The two looked at the carnage ahead and saw Anglermaw run from a wounded Hans. Fal felt his blood boil but noticed the rat didn't hurt him. No blood was between them. As they went to go down into the oddly deserted deck the defying tolling of a bell got them to freeze. The sound was foreboding and the echoing voices of hundreds of chanting rats filled them with dread. "What foulest incarnations are at work?" Celedron asks as they look back to the red mist rising up.
"Not ones I want to experience. Lets move." Fal says looking about. "Wait. Weren't there more gunners?" He asks noticing the fact they were not yet shot at since reaching the walls. But unsure if it was good luck of a trap they decided to move. Whichever it was it would do them no good being in firing range should they return. They moved in to see Hans.
Deeper in the of the Ark the conflict was reported to an aggravated Skreptch. When word of a Saurus making his way inside the following sound was that of fierce lightning and the crack of magic as the poor messenger was eviscerated and blasted into smoldering shards. The fact a no-fur. Especially a reptile made it to the Ark was unforgivable. Skreptch would personally execute any of the gunners or guards should they have had the audacity to survive and not kill their foe. Orders were given and the inner sanctum was locked down. Skreptch sent out the command to pull in all remaining weapons teams and prepare to have an even tighter defense. This sadly would not be possible as the word of Pestelens betrayal reached him. Receiving word that outside the Ark and across the city the Clans were at war. Clanrats of both sides fought and Plague Monks and Engineers fought with foul magic and whatever weapons were on hand. In some cases simple teeth and claws.
"Lockdown the southern bridge. I want all Pestelens rats kill-slaughtered, unload all rounds if you need to. They are to be purged from the Ark and Undercity. Leave no survivors." He gave his commands and all rats that could fled. The seven other Engineers in the room with him where told to keep working and the Ark would not fall while he ruled. As forces were re-positioned the intruders would have an oddly easier time entering until they reached the approach to the Arks core. But most remaining Skaven were sent to defend the other, yet to be closed gate from the forces of Pestelens as the city fell into civil war.
Skreptch looked up at the inbuilt bell and slammed down his weapon's end on the ground.
"Where are you? Tell me! Why have you let all this fall? The Ark cannot be lost to Skryre!" Skreptch went quiet. "Where are you Daemon filth! Show yourself or may the Horned One tear open your foolish form!" Skreptch screamed as he threatened the Daemon they had previously spoken with. Things were going wrong and it could only be due to outside influence. This Daemon was the most outside of outside influences as well.
The ground quaked, the once still bay rumbled with the power of the bell, enough for even the Ark to tilt ever slightly, as a metallic haze revertebrated from within. Anglermaw greeted the two Elves in the distance with a tumble and a chitter as they seemed to tend to Hans. They both looked like breeder muck -- both their outfits plastered by dirt, soot and blood. The original hue of Celedron's robes blighted by the splatter of dried brown across his form, though that probably mattered little to him so long as that Elven armour did him any good. As for Falderan... Well, the new shade of dirt was actually an improvement, not that Anglermaw would let him know.
"What happened to the rest of the scaled lot?" The Sea-Rat inquired to himself in frustration as Mokte still clung hopelessly to the mortal wound, half separating his shoulder from his arm. An eerie sense of calmness separated the group from the ongoing 'dissolution' outside the Ark, aside from Anglermaw himself, this side of the mast was free from any of the Skaven; the Skryre Rats were far too busy defending the drawbridge from a surprise assualt of Jujue's Pestilens host. Gutteral screeches of both fury and terror rang from within the Ark and the hoarse moans of putrefied, rotten thralls croaked from the outside. Legions of little patterings banged upon the steel of the dreadnought, Anglermaw scratched at the matted curls upon his chin, for he had realised the true numbers of the Skryre host. They were desperate enough as it was, three able-bodied rogues against a hundred vermin right beneath their heels. With Hans broken and Mokte at death's door, Anglermaw wondered curiously as to what aid that Nahwa - that benevolent toad hovering above the ground could give.
As he had been with Anglermaw, Hans was woefully ignorant to the arrival of the two Elves. His body was withdrawn by the railing, reeling his head back and forth in a nonsensical motion to seemingly evade the glances of his saviours. No rush of pain gripped his body, even as his leg had been twisted under Mokte's force -- His mind was a lockbox, empty of any adrenaline fueled fear of death or despair at this suicidal cause, merely an embering glint of jeweled cyan from his half-open eyes, which was most likely the influence of Nahwa rather than any semblence of little self-awareness remained of little Brunswick. His clay whistle glowed as the two came closer by the railing, speaking in a hushed tone the Saurian words:
'Hearth of the city, spirit of the Lord.'
Hans whispered these words again and again in that alien language, even while his head spun; drunk with mind numbing magic.
The confines of the Ark dimmed regardless of the warpstone glow, but the Skaven at the front were far too intoxicated by the heat of battle to notice. Only the engineers seemed aware of the sudden change in contrast, put to the brink to activate the Ark's core before Jujue's zealots could steal the prize. The auxillary engines still noisily whirred to power the jade lamps, but the view had gradually begun to darken around the scholars, slowly crumbling to shadows and masking the rusty pallette of the Ark's metal bowels.
This was all paltry in comparisson to the churn of living smog within Skreptch's workshop, away from the prying eyes of lesser Rats, the girded doorways bolted shut as they had done before and the natterings of fearful engineers outside became slurred, yet other voices would whiz faster until the Queekish became nothing but sputterings of gibberish. A deep chuckle echoed through the workshop.
"I had nothing to do with this. It was the Plagued one that comprimised your position, not me. I simply warned you of what was to come." The Guest said, a malevolent giggle laced in it's ghostly tone.
"What happened to the rest of the scaled lot?" The Sea-Rat inquired to himself in frustration as Mokte still clung hopelessly to the mortal wound, half separating his shoulder from his arm. An eerie sense of calmness separated the group from the ongoing 'dissolution' outside the Ark, aside from Anglermaw himself, this side of the mast was free from any of the Skaven; the Skryre Rats were far too busy defending the drawbridge from a surprise assualt of Jujue's Pestilens host. Gutteral screeches of both fury and terror rang from within the Ark and the hoarse moans of putrefied, rotten thralls croaked from the outside. Legions of little patterings banged upon the steel of the dreadnought, Anglermaw scratched at the matted curls upon his chin, for he had realised the true numbers of the Skryre host. They were desperate enough as it was, three able-bodied rogues against a hundred vermin right beneath their heels. With Hans broken and Mokte at death's door, Anglermaw wondered curiously as to what aid that Nahwa - that benevolent toad hovering above the ground could give.
As he had been with Anglermaw, Hans was woefully ignorant to the arrival of the two Elves. His body was withdrawn by the railing, reeling his head back and forth in a nonsensical motion to seemingly evade the glances of his saviours. No rush of pain gripped his body, even as his leg had been twisted under Mokte's force -- His mind was a lockbox, empty of any adrenaline fueled fear of death or despair at this suicidal cause, merely an embering glint of jeweled cyan from his half-open eyes, which was most likely the influence of Nahwa rather than any semblence of little self-awareness remained of little Brunswick. His clay whistle glowed as the two came closer by the railing, speaking in a hushed tone the Saurian words:
'Hearth of the city, spirit of the Lord.'
Hans whispered these words again and again in that alien language, even while his head spun; drunk with mind numbing magic.
The confines of the Ark dimmed regardless of the warpstone glow, but the Skaven at the front were far too intoxicated by the heat of battle to notice. Only the engineers seemed aware of the sudden change in contrast, put to the brink to activate the Ark's core before Jujue's zealots could steal the prize. The auxillary engines still noisily whirred to power the jade lamps, but the view had gradually begun to darken around the scholars, slowly crumbling to shadows and masking the rusty pallette of the Ark's metal bowels.
This was all paltry in comparisson to the churn of living smog within Skreptch's workshop, away from the prying eyes of lesser Rats, the girded doorways bolted shut as they had done before and the natterings of fearful engineers outside became slurred, yet other voices would whiz faster until the Queekish became nothing but sputterings of gibberish. A deep chuckle echoed through the workshop.
"I had nothing to do with this. It was the Plagued one that comprimised your position, not me. I simply warned you of what was to come." The Guest said, a malevolent giggle laced in it's ghostly tone.
Seeing the damaged body of Hans and his blank, magically lit eyes Fal held back the urge to spit up. He was fine with magic if not rather cautious of it. He saw it as useful and tales he heard of Elven Mages helping during the fabled Great War against Chaos under the greatest Emperor since Sigmar himself, Magnus the Pious gave it an aura of Majesty. But the equal horror stories of it being used against men by Chaos was horrifying. That not even starting to consider the horrors he saw from Vampires and Necromancers. That first hand experience and the glow of Hans's eyes reminded Fal of the vile magic. The type that ruined the soul and body, preventing rest. The more he looked at it the more he wanted to drive his blade into Nahwa for what he did to the boy. But he knew it saved them and that's what hurt most. The likely damnation of Hans's soul was needed for them to have survived. Now seeing the boy mumbling like mad Fal drew his blade and looked to him. He had the look of a man needing to ease suffering. Someone looking at a friend, family member or pet in pain and needing release. One would think after seeing your fellow soldiers beg for death other than suffer their injuries any more in battle would render one numb to this. Maybe it was his Human blood but Fal couldn't bring himself to drive in the sword. Only staring at Hans, past the blade in his hand.
Celedron looked over to Fal and saw the division in his eyes. He looked to Hans and his frantic state. It was truly sad. Even if the Elves looked down on Humans it was something else to see them suffering like this. Especially ones that were allies. He rose his hand and pushed Fal's blade to the side slowly.
"Don't worry about that. You look at him like a child needing to put down their sick dog. If you were truly your Druchii blood you'd do it for fun." Celedron smirks and chuckles as he pulls out the flute that Hans was bound to. "I've never been more glad to be wrong than I was about you. Clearly that Man blood in you is doing some good." Fal looks over to Celedron with wet, red eyes. He was holding back emotion but he was still Human even if only partially. Celedron plays a simple tune into the flute and looks to Hans to see if there was any response. Fal lowers the blade and looks to Hans for any reaction.
Below deck the engineers and slaves of Skryre moved the Warp Lighting Cannon batteries to the right side and took aim at the charging Pestelens rats. Hundreds of plague ridden rats and brought slaves charged in a frenzy. Skryre rats engaged and their was a great mix of both along the docks and across buildings. The blue and mix of gear made it very difficult to pin point exact enemies and tell them apart from friends. Luckily for the Skaven morality and loyalty to one another was virtually nonexistent. As such once the cannons were in position and took aim at a clump that seemed decently Pestelens filled they fired. The large wooden frames with metal lances of twisting iron that housed large chunks of warpstone began to cackle and spark. The cannons were a thing of scientific madness and unstable power. As such it was right at home with the Skaven. After several seconds of charging the weapon fired with a boom and rocked back breaking the leg of a poor slave behind it as the recoil flung it back a couple feet. The blast of sizzling lightning shot out like a bolt of pure spite. It impacted the group of mixed clanrats and turned several dozen into crackling goo as they were melted or blown apart. Several other volleys of raging energy shot out into the approaching ranks as he other cannons joined in.
Within his lair Skreptch was furious. The Daemon teased and tormented him resulting in the rat banging against his head with his talons.
"No no no!" He snapped back. "The Ark was for me-me." He snarled in frustration. "If Pestelens and their unruly Lord gets here we'll lose everything. The Ark will not awaken and I will be made a fool. You can't mustn't let that happen. If you truly have nothing to do with this then help Skryre. Awaken the Ark or stop the Plaguelord from ruining it all." The lack of fear Skreptch showed for a Skaven was nearly unheard of. He talked back to the Daemon like he would any of his lesser Skaven servants. Though whether this was true courage or simple annoyed adrenaline was known to none.
Celedron looked over to Fal and saw the division in his eyes. He looked to Hans and his frantic state. It was truly sad. Even if the Elves looked down on Humans it was something else to see them suffering like this. Especially ones that were allies. He rose his hand and pushed Fal's blade to the side slowly.
"Don't worry about that. You look at him like a child needing to put down their sick dog. If you were truly your Druchii blood you'd do it for fun." Celedron smirks and chuckles as he pulls out the flute that Hans was bound to. "I've never been more glad to be wrong than I was about you. Clearly that Man blood in you is doing some good." Fal looks over to Celedron with wet, red eyes. He was holding back emotion but he was still Human even if only partially. Celedron plays a simple tune into the flute and looks to Hans to see if there was any response. Fal lowers the blade and looks to Hans for any reaction.
Below deck the engineers and slaves of Skryre moved the Warp Lighting Cannon batteries to the right side and took aim at the charging Pestelens rats. Hundreds of plague ridden rats and brought slaves charged in a frenzy. Skryre rats engaged and their was a great mix of both along the docks and across buildings. The blue and mix of gear made it very difficult to pin point exact enemies and tell them apart from friends. Luckily for the Skaven morality and loyalty to one another was virtually nonexistent. As such once the cannons were in position and took aim at a clump that seemed decently Pestelens filled they fired. The large wooden frames with metal lances of twisting iron that housed large chunks of warpstone began to cackle and spark. The cannons were a thing of scientific madness and unstable power. As such it was right at home with the Skaven. After several seconds of charging the weapon fired with a boom and rocked back breaking the leg of a poor slave behind it as the recoil flung it back a couple feet. The blast of sizzling lightning shot out like a bolt of pure spite. It impacted the group of mixed clanrats and turned several dozen into crackling goo as they were melted or blown apart. Several other volleys of raging energy shot out into the approaching ranks as he other cannons joined in.
Within his lair Skreptch was furious. The Daemon teased and tormented him resulting in the rat banging against his head with his talons.
"No no no!" He snapped back. "The Ark was for me-me." He snarled in frustration. "If Pestelens and their unruly Lord gets here we'll lose everything. The Ark will not awaken and I will be made a fool. You can't mustn't let that happen. If you truly have nothing to do with this then help Skryre. Awaken the Ark or stop the Plaguelord from ruining it all." The lack of fear Skreptch showed for a Skaven was nearly unheard of. He talked back to the Daemon like he would any of his lesser Skaven servants. Though whether this was true courage or simple annoyed adrenaline was known to none.
Hans' disoriented eyes became immediately transfixed onto the whistle as Celedron's breath chimed through it's tiny clay holes. A deep breath heaved from his chest. The faint glow that burned within his pupils became bright like little suns. Anglermaw himself averted his eyes to shield the brightness away with a matted claw obscuring his vision; his warpstone hookarm merely exasperated the glow. The pain of both hues made him skitter back toward Mokte. The cyan rays from Hans and the whistle were not broad but they were powerful. Concentrated, away from the jeweled eyes of clashing Skaven on the drawbridge.
"B-Bloody horned Hell!" Shouted Anglermaw, backing up toward the stiff crimson scales and bloodied shinguards of gold. He felt half compelled to yell for an answer, but the chime deafened his ears. Soon the screech became slurred and abstract, forming words in that despicable gurgling tone. Nahwa, booming an indecipherable phrase, the significance of which evaded all except for Mokte. The beast stood tall with newfound vigour; his spurting wound seemed non-existant and his expression of awe was concealed under the auric helm. Anglermaw looked back at the bloodsoaked Mokte with a light grimace.
"Come back round, h-have ya?" He said sarcastically.
Mokte would pass him by, trembling as the Ark swayed upon the bubbling waters below, stirred by evil magic. It was a few seconds before the Saurus' huge form blocked the strobes. Unlike Anglermaw, Mokte welcomed the rays. They were the unequivocal presence of His being; a higher being among them.
"...How could I have been so blind..?" Mokte said aloud, the open wound still enriching his arm with a finer coat of red.
Hans gulped violently, a few seconds before what appeared to a wraith of sky blue emerged from his gaping mouth. It's form swirled and engorged toward he and Mokte, whose mortal wound knitted within seconds by the strobes. Mokte paid it no attention, captivated by the stellar rays that gave him hope that Nahwa himself still held hope for them. The Student himself levitated from the railing, his leg crudely twisting and snapping back into place before landing with a soft thud upon the metal, as cold and automaton-like as he been before.
Anglermaw continued to step back, now in the vicinity of the glowing cleaver. He was dumbfounded; magic of this kind was alien to him. Nought but the virulent magics of plague. The Priests of Skavendom did not heal wounds through magic, they simply remedied them with benign infections and loss of sense. Boils and abcesses were bulging, living icons of the Horned Rat, a God whose Anglermaw's faith in was quickly beginning to waver. A thud upon the metal caused him to skitter in panic while enveloped by the strobes, mistaking the sound for a gunshot. But when turned in reflex to the bang, his hookarm had dropped onto the metal mast. A chill coursed down his spine, until he'd noticed that a clumped, hairless fist had begun to sprout from his chewed stump.
As quickly as it had come, the rays receded, as did the resonance within the whistle. Amidst the blood and mangy corpses, there was a harrowing aura of urgency.
"This is your final warning..." Nahwa's voice echoed, this time in Reikspiel. "The Skaven are no longer your greatest concern, Chaos has seeped within the Ark, it's champion renewed from the afterlife. You must stop him; I can prevent the meddling of the Skaven, but I am worn thin by the influence of Demons."
As Nahwa's hoarse tone subsided, so did the whistle's glow.
--
The clashing of both revving and infected halberds outside was mute within the workshop, as were the screams of dying Clanrats, the zwooms of warpstone shards and piercing gongs from Jujue's bell, teetering from his palanquin while pestilent winds churned from his stubby hands. Bubbling, squirming globes would knit upon his bloody fingers, spears of flesh flung toward the Stormvermin that soon exploded into volatile grenades of snotty ichor chewed their ranks while zombified vermin meandered upward. They were skewered like shambling piles of meat, with no sense of individuality among their numbers. It was enough to etch a sense of subservience within their more 'living' Rats-in-arms, who dug in for concealed breaches while the Skryre retinue were overwhelmed. Jujue's servants marched on, undeterred by the weight of his bloated form, nor did the boil-ridden slave that tugged upon the bell pulley react to the fierce gong that rang. He had likely been blessed with deafness by the constant brass shriek.
"Skreptch!" Yelled a phglematic Jujue, raising his arm once again to form another fleshy spear. "Reveal yourself! I know you are in there! I shall eat-munch your wired head while you live-live, then I shall pour mucus into your living eye!"
The Guest hummed, as though it proceeded to give Skreptch a half-thought. "I can't help you. So sorry." It blurted, tactless to the dire situation. "But, I do know one who can. One who has his own contest with this Ark, with the mutinied one and his unlikely friends."
A living shadow formed in the centre of the workshop, but it was not the sickly outline of the Guest that manifested this time, coalescing from the arcane smog. This was the shape of a far more bulkier figure, an armoured figure with the etchings of un-Skaven Gods chiseled into the ornate frame. The Dark Pantheon. The figure bore a rodent head, his gauntlet clasping as though in desparation for his life. In the other, a living sword that groaned with the brainless head of a Saurus.
"You might find my champion pivotal to your schemes. I summoned him siphoned from the same magic preventing the Ark's activation. The Frog above does not know the consequence of his interference. Where he is directed is of no concern to me. Just know that he is a loose cannon."
A gag came from the Abomination, wretching upon the girded boards while both contrast and sound returned to the workshop. The cries of battle, the banging of terrified engineers upon the door and the whir of the Ark's engines. Then Zeigfied panted, his head uncerimoniously bowed before the figure of Skreptch.
"So... Here we are then." The Chosen murmured, raising his beak toward the bejeweled walls.
"B-Bloody horned Hell!" Shouted Anglermaw, backing up toward the stiff crimson scales and bloodied shinguards of gold. He felt half compelled to yell for an answer, but the chime deafened his ears. Soon the screech became slurred and abstract, forming words in that despicable gurgling tone. Nahwa, booming an indecipherable phrase, the significance of which evaded all except for Mokte. The beast stood tall with newfound vigour; his spurting wound seemed non-existant and his expression of awe was concealed under the auric helm. Anglermaw looked back at the bloodsoaked Mokte with a light grimace.
"Come back round, h-have ya?" He said sarcastically.
Mokte would pass him by, trembling as the Ark swayed upon the bubbling waters below, stirred by evil magic. It was a few seconds before the Saurus' huge form blocked the strobes. Unlike Anglermaw, Mokte welcomed the rays. They were the unequivocal presence of His being; a higher being among them.
"...How could I have been so blind..?" Mokte said aloud, the open wound still enriching his arm with a finer coat of red.
Hans gulped violently, a few seconds before what appeared to a wraith of sky blue emerged from his gaping mouth. It's form swirled and engorged toward he and Mokte, whose mortal wound knitted within seconds by the strobes. Mokte paid it no attention, captivated by the stellar rays that gave him hope that Nahwa himself still held hope for them. The Student himself levitated from the railing, his leg crudely twisting and snapping back into place before landing with a soft thud upon the metal, as cold and automaton-like as he been before.
Anglermaw continued to step back, now in the vicinity of the glowing cleaver. He was dumbfounded; magic of this kind was alien to him. Nought but the virulent magics of plague. The Priests of Skavendom did not heal wounds through magic, they simply remedied them with benign infections and loss of sense. Boils and abcesses were bulging, living icons of the Horned Rat, a God whose Anglermaw's faith in was quickly beginning to waver. A thud upon the metal caused him to skitter in panic while enveloped by the strobes, mistaking the sound for a gunshot. But when turned in reflex to the bang, his hookarm had dropped onto the metal mast. A chill coursed down his spine, until he'd noticed that a clumped, hairless fist had begun to sprout from his chewed stump.
As quickly as it had come, the rays receded, as did the resonance within the whistle. Amidst the blood and mangy corpses, there was a harrowing aura of urgency.
"This is your final warning..." Nahwa's voice echoed, this time in Reikspiel. "The Skaven are no longer your greatest concern, Chaos has seeped within the Ark, it's champion renewed from the afterlife. You must stop him; I can prevent the meddling of the Skaven, but I am worn thin by the influence of Demons."
As Nahwa's hoarse tone subsided, so did the whistle's glow.
--
The clashing of both revving and infected halberds outside was mute within the workshop, as were the screams of dying Clanrats, the zwooms of warpstone shards and piercing gongs from Jujue's bell, teetering from his palanquin while pestilent winds churned from his stubby hands. Bubbling, squirming globes would knit upon his bloody fingers, spears of flesh flung toward the Stormvermin that soon exploded into volatile grenades of snotty ichor chewed their ranks while zombified vermin meandered upward. They were skewered like shambling piles of meat, with no sense of individuality among their numbers. It was enough to etch a sense of subservience within their more 'living' Rats-in-arms, who dug in for concealed breaches while the Skryre retinue were overwhelmed. Jujue's servants marched on, undeterred by the weight of his bloated form, nor did the boil-ridden slave that tugged upon the bell pulley react to the fierce gong that rang. He had likely been blessed with deafness by the constant brass shriek.
"Skreptch!" Yelled a phglematic Jujue, raising his arm once again to form another fleshy spear. "Reveal yourself! I know you are in there! I shall eat-munch your wired head while you live-live, then I shall pour mucus into your living eye!"
The Guest hummed, as though it proceeded to give Skreptch a half-thought. "I can't help you. So sorry." It blurted, tactless to the dire situation. "But, I do know one who can. One who has his own contest with this Ark, with the mutinied one and his unlikely friends."
A living shadow formed in the centre of the workshop, but it was not the sickly outline of the Guest that manifested this time, coalescing from the arcane smog. This was the shape of a far more bulkier figure, an armoured figure with the etchings of un-Skaven Gods chiseled into the ornate frame. The Dark Pantheon. The figure bore a rodent head, his gauntlet clasping as though in desparation for his life. In the other, a living sword that groaned with the brainless head of a Saurus.
"You might find my champion pivotal to your schemes. I summoned him siphoned from the same magic preventing the Ark's activation. The Frog above does not know the consequence of his interference. Where he is directed is of no concern to me. Just know that he is a loose cannon."
A gag came from the Abomination, wretching upon the girded boards while both contrast and sound returned to the workshop. The cries of battle, the banging of terrified engineers upon the door and the whir of the Ark's engines. Then Zeigfied panted, his head uncerimoniously bowed before the figure of Skreptch.
"So... Here we are then." The Chosen murmured, raising his beak toward the bejeweled walls.
As musical notes from the flute played light erupted from Han's form. The bright flashes forced Fal to step back and shield his eyes. Looking through a crease in his hand he saw a strange, sorcererous sight. Twisting tendrils of magic that crept about and began to come into contact with the distant Anglermaw and Mokte. The swirling limbs moved around both Fal and Celedron. Fal tried to kick them away but they had the consistency of mist. The break in them acted like no delay as it reformed and swirled around his injuries. Creeping into bruises, cuts and all manner of broken ribs. Bodies felt sudden jolts of pain that no scream followed as after a few seconds the light dimmed and the Elves found their wounds healed. Fal felt a shiver run down his body as his muscles spasmed for a moment. Pain hitting for but a second. He grunted and coughed a thick mess of flem and blood. He panted for a moment as he recovered. Feeling his body being fresh like he had a good rest.
Celedron stopped playing and panted as he dropped it to the ground. It clinked to the floor as Celedron took some slow, deep breaths. His own body felt restored and feeling his rear he noticed the injury was gone. He looked to Hans in amazement before a voice came from him. The group quickly figured out it was Nahwa. The warning was to the point and they turned to look to one another.
"What other Champion? Does it mean that rat headed bastard?" Fal says feeling a deep chill. "We already killed him." Celedron took a deep breath as he pocketed the flute.
"I fear if it is that one. The powers of Chaos work in foul ways. Maybe even death can be conquered and life restored in some twisted fashion." He looks up to the entrance to the grand building. The banging within ran rampant. "We need to get in their and end this. I don't think we can take on another Chaos Champion even in our renewed state. We need to finish this now." Fal was gritting his teeth.
"I agree with him. We need to move and crush the heart of this thing. We must end this and get out of here before we're set upon by rats and worse again." Fal chimed in as the Elves begin to make their way inside expecting Mokte and Anglermaw to follow suit.
The Daemon's words felt like they were mocking him. Suggesting there was someone else claiming dominion or something else over the Ark? What foolishness. Skreptch was the only true ruler of the Ark now and he'd kill any Man, Elf, Reptile or Rat that tried to say otherwise. Though once the large shadowy form began to form in the middle of the open chamber Skreptch felt the cold touch of something foul even by Skaven standards. A brief wind and mist swirled as static green lightning sparked from the various generators. A chill filled the room and dark sparks rode the air and enveloped the form. Crackling off newly reformed metal armour and a Skaven head with fur sizzling with power. This was an abomination Skreptch thought but held his tongue. The form spoke. The tongue of a Skaven but not the voice of one. Skreptch looked down at him and the two seemed to have a game of chicken as to who blinked first. Other Engineers around fled in fear. Skreptch looked to the supposed Champion.
"Who're you-you?" He asks with an unbroken stare and twitch of his snout.
From the edge of the bridge the forces of Pestelens got ever closer. Panic began to wrap around the retreating Skryre forces as they returned onto the Ark. There was the crack of lightning as another blast from a cannon went off. This one missing and blasting a ramshackle building that blew apart with sparks and embers flying with dried wood. On the bridge a group of six Rattling Gunner teams set up their heavy weapons. Like all weapon teams there was two. One to hold the weapon and another to feed the ammunition. As rats fled in their weapons began to spin and a rumbling whir started. An engineer wielding a small staff resembling a mace with warpstone infused metal for the head rose his weapon. As the hordes of Pestelens for closer he slammed it down.
"Fire you foolish dogs!" He says with a crackling voice rampant with fear and panic. The gunners let out a shriek of war as their weapons fired. Dozens of sharp warpstone shards shot out at incredible speeds. Bullets tore into the approaching hordes with reckless abandon. Bullets pierced flesh and armour alike. Shattered bone and blade as zombie and living were shredded. Numerous Skryre rats were caught in the cross fire but the sacrifice was worth it to kill many times the amount of Pestelens forces. Then after a few seconds over a hundred charging Pestelens rats were dead. The weapons began to slow as they over heated and needed cooling. The Engineer let out a squeaky cackle as a large wave was torn apart thanks to his brilliant-perfect plan.
Celedron stopped playing and panted as he dropped it to the ground. It clinked to the floor as Celedron took some slow, deep breaths. His own body felt restored and feeling his rear he noticed the injury was gone. He looked to Hans in amazement before a voice came from him. The group quickly figured out it was Nahwa. The warning was to the point and they turned to look to one another.
"What other Champion? Does it mean that rat headed bastard?" Fal says feeling a deep chill. "We already killed him." Celedron took a deep breath as he pocketed the flute.
"I fear if it is that one. The powers of Chaos work in foul ways. Maybe even death can be conquered and life restored in some twisted fashion." He looks up to the entrance to the grand building. The banging within ran rampant. "We need to get in their and end this. I don't think we can take on another Chaos Champion even in our renewed state. We need to finish this now." Fal was gritting his teeth.
"I agree with him. We need to move and crush the heart of this thing. We must end this and get out of here before we're set upon by rats and worse again." Fal chimed in as the Elves begin to make their way inside expecting Mokte and Anglermaw to follow suit.
The Daemon's words felt like they were mocking him. Suggesting there was someone else claiming dominion or something else over the Ark? What foolishness. Skreptch was the only true ruler of the Ark now and he'd kill any Man, Elf, Reptile or Rat that tried to say otherwise. Though once the large shadowy form began to form in the middle of the open chamber Skreptch felt the cold touch of something foul even by Skaven standards. A brief wind and mist swirled as static green lightning sparked from the various generators. A chill filled the room and dark sparks rode the air and enveloped the form. Crackling off newly reformed metal armour and a Skaven head with fur sizzling with power. This was an abomination Skreptch thought but held his tongue. The form spoke. The tongue of a Skaven but not the voice of one. Skreptch looked down at him and the two seemed to have a game of chicken as to who blinked first. Other Engineers around fled in fear. Skreptch looked to the supposed Champion.
"Who're you-you?" He asks with an unbroken stare and twitch of his snout.
From the edge of the bridge the forces of Pestelens got ever closer. Panic began to wrap around the retreating Skryre forces as they returned onto the Ark. There was the crack of lightning as another blast from a cannon went off. This one missing and blasting a ramshackle building that blew apart with sparks and embers flying with dried wood. On the bridge a group of six Rattling Gunner teams set up their heavy weapons. Like all weapon teams there was two. One to hold the weapon and another to feed the ammunition. As rats fled in their weapons began to spin and a rumbling whir started. An engineer wielding a small staff resembling a mace with warpstone infused metal for the head rose his weapon. As the hordes of Pestelens for closer he slammed it down.
"Fire you foolish dogs!" He says with a crackling voice rampant with fear and panic. The gunners let out a shriek of war as their weapons fired. Dozens of sharp warpstone shards shot out at incredible speeds. Bullets tore into the approaching hordes with reckless abandon. Bullets pierced flesh and armour alike. Shattered bone and blade as zombie and living were shredded. Numerous Skryre rats were caught in the cross fire but the sacrifice was worth it to kill many times the amount of Pestelens forces. Then after a few seconds over a hundred charging Pestelens rats were dead. The weapons began to slow as they over heated and needed cooling. The Engineer let out a squeaky cackle as a large wave was torn apart thanks to his brilliant-perfect plan.
Anglermaw was still captivated by the sight of a naked fist spewing from what had been a handless stump a moment ago. The claw was hairless, and limp until a rush of blood filled the now un-cauterized veins. He clenched the claw a few times, astounded while Nahwa passed his final warning.
"I cannot believe it." The Sea-Rat said aloud with a child's smile curling across his beak. "H-how many wasted-long years, for a poof a magic?"
"We should never have doubted His Omnipotence." Mokte interrupted, strolling over to his cleaver still draped in his own blood, albeit with no wound to show for it. He tore the weapon from the dead gunner that almost vanquished him, creating a curdling squelch sound that seemed to satisfy Mokte's bloodthirsty temprement. He cracked his neck left to right as the cleaver glowed once again.
"Judging from your friends, I'd say we meet this Champion head on." Said Mokte, surveying the possessed Hans enter the interior, following the whistle.
Anglermaw had been too captivated by his new claw to take notice. "Err, yeah... Champion..." He muttered, as Mokte and himself scampered alongside to join the Elves. They were impetuous, no doubt, their forms hidden in the distance by faint glow of warpstone salts that tinted the oil lights within these industrial bowels. Anglermaw knew the structure of the Ark well as they ran. It had been his jewel at one point, every nook and cranny; every curve upon his metal diamond, his precious...
...They had already passed his old quarters, held somewhere up top, where jade glass windows perched out to watch the stir of the sea, and the littered half-eaten corpses marred the metal grating. He could remember the face of his last prey, the one he'd never meant to kill; his last meal as Claw-Admiral. A Man-thing emissary, with the body and countenance of Brunswick. He'd died of shock, probably as the Student would one day. The core was a much safer chamber, yes-yes, but it was away from his crew. He always had to scrutinize the other sea-rats, to make them know their place in the pecking order, lest they walk the plank and be fed to the kiddies of Stromfels.
It didn't do him much in the end though, did it.
"Take the right tunnel!" Anglermaw shouted up front in a second of clarity as the group came to a fork. "We'll 'ead straight t' the core from there-on! Left takes us to the armoury, where all the Bad Rats are!"
It was at this moment Anglermaw realised that he was completely unarmed. His claws could tear out a man's insides, no doubt, but against those saw-halberds from earlier..."
Oh Rat-scat! The Sea-Rat looked down to his claws in silence with an expression of dread across his beak
Mokte took notice and laughed. "What chance do you have against a Champion of Chaos without your magic gun?" He said mockingly as they raced to the split tunnel.
"Wait, you said Chaos-thing... Oh, for Sigmar-Rat's..."
"What of it, Sunami?" Mokte interrupted.
"If it's Zeig-flag we're on about then we're dead, that bastard keep coming back!" Anglermaw whined.
"Not if Nahwa's will deigns it!" Mokte said, brandishing the glowing cleaver toward Anglermaw's figure as they moved. "I saw the Champion burn at the whim of the Slann! I'll watch him quake again."
--
"My name is Zeigfied of the Kurgan." The Champion bluntly announced as he rose to his feet. He had crossed Skreptch gaze with his own contemptuous glare. He had his own hatred for the Skaven, the race who had made him into this parody of a Beastman. He pointed toward his scowling beak with an armoured finger. Although the Chosen's face was doubtlessly Skaven, it's features were far more... modest. He did not chitter and sway to the Black Hunger like the Clan-Rats did, nor did he snarl or salivate. Zeigfied's contempt was contained into a simple scowl of venom.
"Your kin did this." Zeigfied hissed. "The Skaven desecrated my body for their own mad quest for power, now I wear the head of my possesor like a permenant mantle of shame. I swore to take the Ark for the Gods as revenge. But the Guest spat me out at your discretion, so I suppose that makes us 'allies,' doesn't it?"
He looked down toward the figure of fur and metal, the gurgling of his claymore providing some disturbing remedy to the dead air. An abomination like himself, if by other means. But there was no camaraderie here. They were allies by extreme chance: Neither held any pretense of friendship toward the other, but was Zeigfied compelled by the Demon to serve. His vanquishers were up there, bumbling their way down the bowels of the ship. Anglermaw, The Man-Elf, and that Asur Magician. There would be no Toad to save them this time. He grinned subconsiously; he'd not even noticed the upward curl of his lips, only the excitement of how he was going to dispatch their souls to Khorne.
Jujue's retinue could not help but stagger under the flurry of warpstone bolts, crashing into the killing ground and making a grinder of the battlefield. The centre had been colourfully parted and mangled remains littered the crimson drawbridge, most of their bodies already putrified. Those who shambled toward the flanks were brutally picked off under the buzzing rev of custom chain-halberds. The Plaguelord looked down toward his palanquin carriers before the second wave of Pestilens arrived, more muscular and subservient than the average Stormvermin thrall. Six hulking slaves across the hexagonal platform of the palanquin. They had been riddled with almost comical holes across their bodies, their lower jaws torn and tongues quivering, their insides exposed to plain view. But they did not stop, they were manufactured puppets blessed by the Horned Rat. Pain was simply an inconvenience.
Rotten teeth grinded across Jujue's beak as the noble reserves made their way to the killing ground, mustered from the citadel looming across the Pit. These were living Stormvermin, and levied plague monks carrying glowing censers like virulent flails. They held no concern for the mangled across the drawbridge, only the conversion of the Ark by force.
"Ring the bell." Jujue snarled toward the pulley slave upon the palanquin. "Call to the Horned Rat for blessings to bolster my power!"
And so the bell thundered again with the second charge, causing the very Ark to shudder from within...
...A sudden bolt of warped lightning coursed through the veins of the Ark, it was beginning to stir.
"I cannot believe it." The Sea-Rat said aloud with a child's smile curling across his beak. "H-how many wasted-long years, for a poof a magic?"
"We should never have doubted His Omnipotence." Mokte interrupted, strolling over to his cleaver still draped in his own blood, albeit with no wound to show for it. He tore the weapon from the dead gunner that almost vanquished him, creating a curdling squelch sound that seemed to satisfy Mokte's bloodthirsty temprement. He cracked his neck left to right as the cleaver glowed once again.
"Judging from your friends, I'd say we meet this Champion head on." Said Mokte, surveying the possessed Hans enter the interior, following the whistle.
Anglermaw had been too captivated by his new claw to take notice. "Err, yeah... Champion..." He muttered, as Mokte and himself scampered alongside to join the Elves. They were impetuous, no doubt, their forms hidden in the distance by faint glow of warpstone salts that tinted the oil lights within these industrial bowels. Anglermaw knew the structure of the Ark well as they ran. It had been his jewel at one point, every nook and cranny; every curve upon his metal diamond, his precious...
...They had already passed his old quarters, held somewhere up top, where jade glass windows perched out to watch the stir of the sea, and the littered half-eaten corpses marred the metal grating. He could remember the face of his last prey, the one he'd never meant to kill; his last meal as Claw-Admiral. A Man-thing emissary, with the body and countenance of Brunswick. He'd died of shock, probably as the Student would one day. The core was a much safer chamber, yes-yes, but it was away from his crew. He always had to scrutinize the other sea-rats, to make them know their place in the pecking order, lest they walk the plank and be fed to the kiddies of Stromfels.
It didn't do him much in the end though, did it.
"Take the right tunnel!" Anglermaw shouted up front in a second of clarity as the group came to a fork. "We'll 'ead straight t' the core from there-on! Left takes us to the armoury, where all the Bad Rats are!"
It was at this moment Anglermaw realised that he was completely unarmed. His claws could tear out a man's insides, no doubt, but against those saw-halberds from earlier..."
Oh Rat-scat! The Sea-Rat looked down to his claws in silence with an expression of dread across his beak
Mokte took notice and laughed. "What chance do you have against a Champion of Chaos without your magic gun?" He said mockingly as they raced to the split tunnel.
"Wait, you said Chaos-thing... Oh, for Sigmar-Rat's..."
"What of it, Sunami?" Mokte interrupted.
"If it's Zeig-flag we're on about then we're dead, that bastard keep coming back!" Anglermaw whined.
"Not if Nahwa's will deigns it!" Mokte said, brandishing the glowing cleaver toward Anglermaw's figure as they moved. "I saw the Champion burn at the whim of the Slann! I'll watch him quake again."
--
"My name is Zeigfied of the Kurgan." The Champion bluntly announced as he rose to his feet. He had crossed Skreptch gaze with his own contemptuous glare. He had his own hatred for the Skaven, the race who had made him into this parody of a Beastman. He pointed toward his scowling beak with an armoured finger. Although the Chosen's face was doubtlessly Skaven, it's features were far more... modest. He did not chitter and sway to the Black Hunger like the Clan-Rats did, nor did he snarl or salivate. Zeigfied's contempt was contained into a simple scowl of venom.
"Your kin did this." Zeigfied hissed. "The Skaven desecrated my body for their own mad quest for power, now I wear the head of my possesor like a permenant mantle of shame. I swore to take the Ark for the Gods as revenge. But the Guest spat me out at your discretion, so I suppose that makes us 'allies,' doesn't it?"
He looked down toward the figure of fur and metal, the gurgling of his claymore providing some disturbing remedy to the dead air. An abomination like himself, if by other means. But there was no camaraderie here. They were allies by extreme chance: Neither held any pretense of friendship toward the other, but was Zeigfied compelled by the Demon to serve. His vanquishers were up there, bumbling their way down the bowels of the ship. Anglermaw, The Man-Elf, and that Asur Magician. There would be no Toad to save them this time. He grinned subconsiously; he'd not even noticed the upward curl of his lips, only the excitement of how he was going to dispatch their souls to Khorne.
Jujue's retinue could not help but stagger under the flurry of warpstone bolts, crashing into the killing ground and making a grinder of the battlefield. The centre had been colourfully parted and mangled remains littered the crimson drawbridge, most of their bodies already putrified. Those who shambled toward the flanks were brutally picked off under the buzzing rev of custom chain-halberds. The Plaguelord looked down toward his palanquin carriers before the second wave of Pestilens arrived, more muscular and subservient than the average Stormvermin thrall. Six hulking slaves across the hexagonal platform of the palanquin. They had been riddled with almost comical holes across their bodies, their lower jaws torn and tongues quivering, their insides exposed to plain view. But they did not stop, they were manufactured puppets blessed by the Horned Rat. Pain was simply an inconvenience.
Rotten teeth grinded across Jujue's beak as the noble reserves made their way to the killing ground, mustered from the citadel looming across the Pit. These were living Stormvermin, and levied plague monks carrying glowing censers like virulent flails. They held no concern for the mangled across the drawbridge, only the conversion of the Ark by force.
"Ring the bell." Jujue snarled toward the pulley slave upon the palanquin. "Call to the Horned Rat for blessings to bolster my power!"
And so the bell thundered again with the second charge, causing the very Ark to shudder from within...
...A sudden bolt of warped lightning coursed through the veins of the Ark, it was beginning to stir.
The sounds of battle echoed through the Arks hallowed, metal hallways. The sounds reverberated like the other catacombs they made their way through to reach the Skaven city. Though this carried a twang to itself. A resounding sound of metal and the gong of industry. Though this wasn't like Imperial ingenuity. This sound was more abnormal. More twisted and echoing much like a gong. Truly the Skaven would bastardize anything to make their point. Fal heard Anglermaw's directions and stopped at the crossroad so they could catch up. Celedron stopped as well.
"What is it?"
"We need to be together if we stand any chance. And besides I want that big guy in front. Think he could take on that rat headed freak?" Fal explains and indicates Mokte.
"Physically yes. Though since we killed him already I know not what powers he may have. Magic as well. I'm nearly drained and can't access much in this decrepit place. Short of draining the Human dry of all life force in order to channel what magic he still holds." Celedron explained as he indicated Hans. He could see Fal's trepidation. "Though I wish to not need to do that." Fal looked to Hans and the others.
"Best if the big guy leads. I trust him to take a hit better than us and he could deal a bigger hit on this bastard."
"This was not a job of Skryre. You would be improved far-far beyond this. You the work of a wanna be Moulder rat." Skreptch snickers in a mocking tone. He grinned a foul smile. "But for now you right-correct." He looks over to the large doors. "You can deal with the interlopers from outside. Kill-crush them with your might." Skreptch tapped his staph. "The Ark will be operational soon. Then Skryre can retake it's place above Pestelens traitors." As they spoke the tolling of the bell resumed and an unearthly glow and spark flickered around the bell in the center of the chamber. Skreptch turned his back of Zeigfied and looked to the bell that for a moment had an unearthly glow of life. His beady eyes lit up with joy. "Yes-yes! See! Skryre work has brought it to life. So close now." A the light dims he turns back to his new 'ally'. "Get up there and kill the interlopers. I need to work on this. Go-move." Skreptch looked over to a slave that cowered in the corner covering it's eyes. "You! Tell the gates guards to assist the Chaos rat!" The slave with snotted nose crawls up and runs to deliver his order. Skreptch then waves ff Zeigfied as he gets to work in this final hour of the Ark's awakening.
As the bell tolled once again outside the forces of Pestelens moved with newfound vigor. The plagued forces charged and the rats on the bridge belonging to Skryre were quickly on the defensive. Weapon's teams reloaded and the Engineer behind the gunners crawled up to a higher vantage point on a pier support. Glaring at the approaching rats he began speaking some mad words and flicked his weapon forward. Like an arrow of green an unstable bolt of magic shot out. Cracking into the ground in front of three diseased Plaguemonks it hit the ground and erupted out crackling energy in a small six foot radius. The impact on the monks legs left the collapsing as blood clots and bruises formed from the impact. It barely felt like a shiver but those caught within the radius had a massive shockwave through their legs. Bones now realized they were broken and shouted in both pain and annoyance at their halted charge.
Below the Ark the lightning cannon array prepared to fire once more. As the weapons were wound into position and charged two slender figures moved to the leftmost one. One isolated from the others and manned by six low ranking Skaven and another of low class but wielding a whip to force those below him to move.
"Prepare. Fire!" He cries cracking his whips. The slaves cower and do as demanded. As this one grins at his power he fails to notice the two forms behind him. Before he can respond two clubs, one from each side smack his head crushing it to pulp as he drops. The whip is grabbed by a scaled blue hand. The Slaves turn to see their master dead and freeze when they see his killed. A pair of Skinks. One Chameleon and one regular and blue. The Chameleon leaps into a frenzy bashing slave skulls in as the rats go to flee. Two were killed but the others scurry off. All but one final one that gets it's leg whipped and drops. The cruel weapon lacerating skin. The Chameleon finishes this one with swift efficiency. As the Skaven flee Chi-noee and the Skink perform one final act of sabotage before fleeing to the pipes stretching along the roof. With their clubs they broke several parts of the cannon. Notably around the neck and frame. Hearing the sounds of returning Skaven feet they climb the cannon and leap onto the flimsy pipes above. Lowering and laying atop them as they crawl along. Stealth being their greatest skill.
Several hundred meters away through the Skaven city was a dimly lit tunnel with several flickering, green torches of light. A Skaven Clanrat ran out in a panic. He panted and stumbled as the sounds of snarls and footsteps rapidly approaching followed behind. From the darkness emerged a large green Reptile with the staunch figure of a Saurus on it's back. A bloodied spear was held in it's hand. The Cold One is rode cried out and leapt for the Skaven. It crushed onto the rat breaking it's bones as it's bloodied jaws dived down to rip and tear the rodents head off. From behind another six similar Saurus Knights emerged. Emerging into the city they heard the chaos in the distance.
"Qu-ois zital parah." The front one says as the group begin moving into the city. Steeds moving with speed and agility through the streets as they came across a conflicting group of twelve Clanrats. As they fought the descending dinosaurs tore them apart in a brutal frenzy.
Located further away inside the city was another group. This one of seven riders but led by a Skink. Qua-zital the leader of the Saurus Knights. Through using the confusion and chaos of the recently broken out civil war they managed to find their way through the city rather untouched. Only needing to kill a few hundred Skaven the numbers were poultry compared to their total. He looked over to the other riders and gave his commands.
"Nokte, sarafy dhoro." He explains as the Saurus move out. The Skink could see and hear the Ark in the distance. He was a good five hundred meters away from where the assaulting Pestelens forces were and he was eager to rejoin his allies as reinforcements. Behind him came a rumbling growl. Peeking around from some buildings nearly a hundred meters back was a large white snout splattered with blood and about three meters off the ground. A snout with several pointed teeth showing and two thick whiskers sniffed the air. It let out a growl and Qua-zital seemed to smirk as he ran into the city. The large form moving to follow as a long serpentine tongue flickered out.
"What is it?"
"We need to be together if we stand any chance. And besides I want that big guy in front. Think he could take on that rat headed freak?" Fal explains and indicates Mokte.
"Physically yes. Though since we killed him already I know not what powers he may have. Magic as well. I'm nearly drained and can't access much in this decrepit place. Short of draining the Human dry of all life force in order to channel what magic he still holds." Celedron explained as he indicated Hans. He could see Fal's trepidation. "Though I wish to not need to do that." Fal looked to Hans and the others.
"Best if the big guy leads. I trust him to take a hit better than us and he could deal a bigger hit on this bastard."
"This was not a job of Skryre. You would be improved far-far beyond this. You the work of a wanna be Moulder rat." Skreptch snickers in a mocking tone. He grinned a foul smile. "But for now you right-correct." He looks over to the large doors. "You can deal with the interlopers from outside. Kill-crush them with your might." Skreptch tapped his staph. "The Ark will be operational soon. Then Skryre can retake it's place above Pestelens traitors." As they spoke the tolling of the bell resumed and an unearthly glow and spark flickered around the bell in the center of the chamber. Skreptch turned his back of Zeigfied and looked to the bell that for a moment had an unearthly glow of life. His beady eyes lit up with joy. "Yes-yes! See! Skryre work has brought it to life. So close now." A the light dims he turns back to his new 'ally'. "Get up there and kill the interlopers. I need to work on this. Go-move." Skreptch looked over to a slave that cowered in the corner covering it's eyes. "You! Tell the gates guards to assist the Chaos rat!" The slave with snotted nose crawls up and runs to deliver his order. Skreptch then waves ff Zeigfied as he gets to work in this final hour of the Ark's awakening.
As the bell tolled once again outside the forces of Pestelens moved with newfound vigor. The plagued forces charged and the rats on the bridge belonging to Skryre were quickly on the defensive. Weapon's teams reloaded and the Engineer behind the gunners crawled up to a higher vantage point on a pier support. Glaring at the approaching rats he began speaking some mad words and flicked his weapon forward. Like an arrow of green an unstable bolt of magic shot out. Cracking into the ground in front of three diseased Plaguemonks it hit the ground and erupted out crackling energy in a small six foot radius. The impact on the monks legs left the collapsing as blood clots and bruises formed from the impact. It barely felt like a shiver but those caught within the radius had a massive shockwave through their legs. Bones now realized they were broken and shouted in both pain and annoyance at their halted charge.
Below the Ark the lightning cannon array prepared to fire once more. As the weapons were wound into position and charged two slender figures moved to the leftmost one. One isolated from the others and manned by six low ranking Skaven and another of low class but wielding a whip to force those below him to move.
"Prepare. Fire!" He cries cracking his whips. The slaves cower and do as demanded. As this one grins at his power he fails to notice the two forms behind him. Before he can respond two clubs, one from each side smack his head crushing it to pulp as he drops. The whip is grabbed by a scaled blue hand. The Slaves turn to see their master dead and freeze when they see his killed. A pair of Skinks. One Chameleon and one regular and blue. The Chameleon leaps into a frenzy bashing slave skulls in as the rats go to flee. Two were killed but the others scurry off. All but one final one that gets it's leg whipped and drops. The cruel weapon lacerating skin. The Chameleon finishes this one with swift efficiency. As the Skaven flee Chi-noee and the Skink perform one final act of sabotage before fleeing to the pipes stretching along the roof. With their clubs they broke several parts of the cannon. Notably around the neck and frame. Hearing the sounds of returning Skaven feet they climb the cannon and leap onto the flimsy pipes above. Lowering and laying atop them as they crawl along. Stealth being their greatest skill.
Several hundred meters away through the Skaven city was a dimly lit tunnel with several flickering, green torches of light. A Skaven Clanrat ran out in a panic. He panted and stumbled as the sounds of snarls and footsteps rapidly approaching followed behind. From the darkness emerged a large green Reptile with the staunch figure of a Saurus on it's back. A bloodied spear was held in it's hand. The Cold One is rode cried out and leapt for the Skaven. It crushed onto the rat breaking it's bones as it's bloodied jaws dived down to rip and tear the rodents head off. From behind another six similar Saurus Knights emerged. Emerging into the city they heard the chaos in the distance.
"Qu-ois zital parah." The front one says as the group begin moving into the city. Steeds moving with speed and agility through the streets as they came across a conflicting group of twelve Clanrats. As they fought the descending dinosaurs tore them apart in a brutal frenzy.
Located further away inside the city was another group. This one of seven riders but led by a Skink. Qua-zital the leader of the Saurus Knights. Through using the confusion and chaos of the recently broken out civil war they managed to find their way through the city rather untouched. Only needing to kill a few hundred Skaven the numbers were poultry compared to their total. He looked over to the other riders and gave his commands.
"Nokte, sarafy dhoro." He explains as the Saurus move out. The Skink could see and hear the Ark in the distance. He was a good five hundred meters away from where the assaulting Pestelens forces were and he was eager to rejoin his allies as reinforcements. Behind him came a rumbling growl. Peeking around from some buildings nearly a hundred meters back was a large white snout splattered with blood and about three meters off the ground. A snout with several pointed teeth showing and two thick whiskers sniffed the air. It let out a growl and Qua-zital seemed to smirk as he ran into the city. The large form moving to follow as a long serpentine tongue flickered out.
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